Dear Mr Masen
by jendonna
Summary: "Error 434: Reprimanding an executive." Life changing or just stupid? Dear Mr. Masen: A story of unauthorized Internet usage, culinary delights and the goings-on at Cullen, Inc. AH, ExB.
1. Chapter 1

**By way of explanation, this is why we're here:**

**jennde: This all started with a review a received for **_**Finding Home**_**, in which the reviewer, m1eab01 (who you can either thank or blame when this is all over), mentioned that what prompted her to read was a particularly rambling and nonsensical review I left for Bel's **_**The Cullen Campaign**_**. I thought it was really sweet, so I emailed Bel the details.**

**belladonna1472: And I said "You and I should write a story one day that's like a ramble-off between Bella and Edward. I know I would read it! Office memos or something like that."**

**jen: And then I said "I can totally see it now. Bella works in the IT department of a huge corporation, and she has to send memos to Edward about his unauthorized web surfing. She watches what he does and while she has to reprimand him about non-work related web usage during working hours, she also inserts little rambles about the websites he visits."**

**bel: And then we discovered that we liked writing together, so much so that we turned that long chain of rambling emails into first few chapters of a real story. Yes, a real story. Not a fake one. A real one. We hope you enjoy reading this, because we've had a blast writing it!**

**Sorry for the long a/n, we'll try to keep the rambling to a minimum as we move forward.**

**Thanks to SR for being a Super Beta and to Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**CHAPTER ONE  
**

**From: Isabella Swan ISwan (at) culleninc (dot) com**  
**To: Edward Masen EMasen (at) culleninc (dot) com****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 1:26 PM**  
**Subject: Internet Usage**

Dear Mr. Masen,

You logged one hour and fourteen minutes of unauthorized Internet usage on May 28, 2010. As per company policy, only work related websites should be visited between the hours of 8:00am and 6:00pm. Please note this section from the company handbook, page 13.5:

_While use of the computer, e-mail and Internet is intended for job-related activities, incidental and occasional brief personal use is permitted within reasonable limits, so long as it does not interfere with the employee's work._

_The company specifically prohibits the use of computers (including Internet access) and the e-mail system in ways that are disruptive, offensive to others or harmful to morale, including sexually explicit messages, images and cartoons, ethnic slurs, racial comments, off-color jokes or anything that could be construed as harassment or shows disrespect for others, defames or slanders others, or otherwise harms another person or business. _

_Employees may not access the Internet to log onto any Web sites that contain any such material, including any pornographic Web site, or any Web site that contains any discriminatory message, or disparages any group. Employees may not use computers or the e-mail system for commercial messages of any kind or for messages of a religious or political nature, chain letters, solicitations, gambling or other inappropriate usage. E-mail and Internet access should be used in such a way that all transmissions, whether internal or external, are accurate, appropriate, ethical and lawful. _

Your adherence to company policy in the future would be greatly appreciated.

By the way, the recipe you looked up on the Food Network website is terrible. Substitute oregano for basil, use a medium shallot instead of yellow onion, and omit the pepper jack completely and it will be much better.

Isabella Swan  
IT Specialist  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 1:47 PM  
Subject: In my defense...**

Dear Ms. Swan,

(or should that be Rachael Ray?)

I worked at least 1 hour and 14 minutes of overtime on May 28, 2010. Surely my dedication to this job offsets any "unauthorized" web usage. Not to mention - and I say this as modestly as possible - I am the Chief Financial Officer of the company. I recall staying in the office until at least 8:30pm, which is why I didn't end up trying the recipe until the following day.

Speaking of said recipe - how do I know your substitutions can be trusted?

Edward Masen  
Chief Financial Officer  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 2:01 PM  
Subject: Sincere Apologies**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Please excuse me, Sir. I'm new here and had no idea you were the CFO. I'm told to look at general usage by employees and send out emails if someone is visiting unauthorized sites during business hours. I will refrain from emailing you regarding Internet usage in the future.

But I have to ask, don't you have a computer at home where you can look up recipes?

You must realize that IT Managers often have degrees in areas having nothing to do with computers or networks. Mine are in Literature and Culinary Arts. Sadly, this was the only job I could find.

Isabella Swan  
IT Specialist  
Cullen, Inc.

PS: Rachel Ray is a hack.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 2:26 PM  
Subject: Technicalities  
**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I do have a computer at home where I can look up recipes. But in the grand scheme of things, I must tell you that I think the universe has already punished me for my unauthorized Internet usage. You see, I looked up that recipe because I had a date the next night. I wanted to cook. The evening was _horrible _- and I'm not just talking about the meal.

I will defer to you on the substitutions. I hope you are not too sad in this IT job of yours.

Edward Masen  
Failed Chef  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 2:51 PM  
Subject: Just Doing My Job**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I'm sorry to hear that your date was a disaster, especially since you seemed to take such care with choosing what to cook. If it makes you feel any better, I went out last night on what might have been the worst first date ever.

A casual acquaintance asked me to dinner and a movie, of which there are many iterations, especially in a city this size. His version was a Value Meal followed by a porno down on Tenth Avenue.

I may never date again.

I hope you'll remake the recipe as I suggested. I promise it will be delicious.

My job isn't so bad some days. Like today, for instance.

Isabella Swan  
Failed Dater  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 3:01 PM**  
**Subject: What a Bozo **

Dear Ms. Swan,

I guess reprimanding people must be akin to handing out detentions. I hope that doesn't get too tiresome. In a gesture of goodwill, I will try to use my BlackBerry if I feel the need to conduct personal business.

I am appalled at this casual acquaintance of yours. Simply appalled. There is no way that such a date could ever be acceptable, even if he paid for your McNuggets and let you choose which "movie" to watch. Even Ronald McDonald could've come up with a better plan than that. Then again, this guy sounds like the ultimate clown.

I don't think you should quit dating. Not all men are this stupid, I assure you.

As for my failed date...Yes, I did make an effort. You can even ask the stock boy at my local Dean & DeLuca - I spent an inordinate amount of time collecting ingredients, as well as choosing an appropriate appetizer. I do want to try the recipe again, but I'm worried I'll have flashbacks to the date.

Edward Masen  
Clown Hater  
Cullen Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 4:26 PM**  
**Subject: Bingo!**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I'll take your word for it that most men aren't stupid, as I'm beginning to believe otherwise. A few months ago I met a man in a coffee shop and took a chance by giving him my phone number and email address.

He showed up for our first date with his mother, decrying his lack of available eldercare options. We played bingo in a church basement, then went to the Early Bird Special at IHOP (I didn't even know there was a IHOP in the city). Then, when he dropped me off and walked me to my front door, he licked the side of my face.

To this day, I'm still getting his "Joke of the Day" emails.

You sound like a man of discerning tastes who takes care when planning to treat a woman to a nice evening. I'm often at Dean & DeLuca on Sunday morning for coffee and a scone in an attempt to wash away the bitter taste left in my mouth from the previous evening's inevitable disappointment.

Please, try the recipe again, I promise it will be delicious. It's not difficult and since it serves two, you can save it for lunch the next day. It heats well. Unless of course you have another date planned, in which case I wish you luck this time around. I promise my version will erase any and all bad memories associated with your previous attempt.

Isabella Swan  
Not a Salt Lick  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 7:45 AM**  
**Subject: Saving Face**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I cannot believe this other guy took you to play bingo, and I am almost tempted to call you a liar for saying there is a IHOP in the city! I shudder to think what he had planned for the second date - perhaps an AARP Conference, or a trip to the local Duane Reade to get his mother's prescriptions filled.

But what I truly cannot fathom is the fact he licked the side of your face. I would never treat a woman like a postage stamp! I am outraged. Positively outraged. And how dare he continue to send "Joke of the Day" emails. He is most certainly the biggest joke I have heard about all week, and that's saying something, as I'm sure you're aware of the many idiots who work in this corporation.

Perhaps this Sunday morning you could ask someone for a pricing gun...so you can label these men as "cheap."

I do love the coffee at Dean & DeLuca, and I wonder if we've ever passed each other by on a Sunday morning. I suppose I'll have to go back to the store if I want try the recipe again. I do not have another date planned, so I guess I will end up saving a portion for lunch. I certainly hope your version helps purge the bad memories of my ill-fated date...I must warn you though, it would take quite the culinary masterpiece to erase the fact that this woman...No, I can't even type about it.

Edward Masen  
Not a Joke  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 9:12 AM**  
**Subject: Steak Shaped Steak**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I wouldn't lie about something like IHOP. Believe me, it exists and it's horrifying, especially to someone with a culinary degree. One of my dinner companions ordered something called Salisbury Steak; apparently it's meat that's been minced and reformed into the shape of a steak, then topped with mushrooms and an unidentifiable brown "sauce."

I'm afraid to tell you what I ordered, for fear that you'll think less of me.

You're right, there are quite a few idiots who work for this corporation. Have you met the VP of Marketing? Jasper is his name, and apparently he's the boss' son. Or son-in-law. Something like that. Be that as it may, he would have to be related since he comes off as a complete stoner in conversation.

Perhaps we have passed each other on a Sunday morning, though I doubt I would have noticed. No offense personally, I just tend to keep to myself. I'm usually at the Prince Street location since its close to where I live and I can stay and enjoy my coffee with my head buried in a copy of the _New York Times_.

I'm intrigued about what happened on your date. I've already shared two bad date experiences with you, won't you tell me about yours? I promise I won't laugh (unless appropriate).

I think I have just about all the ingredients necessary to make the dish we've been discussing. Perhaps I'll make it this weekend and bring my leftovers for lunch on Monday.

Isabella Swan  
Still Hopeful  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 10:55 AM**  
**Subject: Brown v. Board of Sanitation **

Dear Ms. Swan,

I hope you will excuse the two minutes of unauthorized web usage that I just clocked up. I simply _had _to know where this House of Reconstituted Steak is located, as I plan on avoiding this establishment for the rest of my life. If I had the guts to do so, I would protest in front of it with a placard that read "Make Love, Not Unidentifiable Brown Sauce." I won't ever do this, as it would of course require me to be within fifty feet of said "sauce," but I'm sure you can appreciate the sentiment.

Oh, you mean Jasper Whitlock? Yes, he does come off as quite a stoner. Every time I meet with him to discuss his department's expenditure, I feel like I'm talking to a spaced out ten-year-old. Perhaps I should employ the use of flash cards: _New York City. Money. Marijuana. _It's meetings with people like him that make me regret ever leaving PricewaterhouseCoopers.

Ah, see, I'm a regular at the Madison location, but I _have _considered venturing elsewhere. You see, the stock boy I mentioned earlier...he stares at me longingly when I'm shopping, and it makes me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough for me to start visiting the SoHo store? Well, I wouldn't want to intrude on your territory...

Yes, you're right - you _have _shared two of your date experiences. I suppose it is only fair that I let you in on what happened. But in exchange, I'd like to know what you ordered at IHOP. To pique your interest, I give you this tidbit: my date wore a white dress that night, and thirty minutes into the date, I noticed a...uh, red...stain...

If you make the dish this Sunday, then perhaps we can compare notes on Monday? Not that you'd need to take notes while cooking. It's just that I'd like to check whether I cooked it correctly.

Edward Masen  
Object of Stock Boy's Affection  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 11:30 AM**  
**Subject: Nothing Good Comes From a Can**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I've already given you so much, but I'm willing to play ball. I really want to hear about this date. I ordered breakfast for dinner. The _Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity Breakfast_, to be exact. I figured I couldn't really go wrong with pancakes at the International House of Pancakes. It seemed so safe. I was so wrong. It was like eating hockey pucks with canned pie filling poured on top. And actually having to order it from the server was terribly embarrassing. The term "Rooty Tooty" should never be used in civilized conversation.

You worked for Pricewaterhouse? May I ask what prompted you to leave? For someone in your position, that would seem like a dream job. Though Cullen, Inc. does have its perks.

You should see the websites Jasper Whitlock visits. I sit here some days and wonder where I've gone wrong with my life that he probably makes ten times what I do, and I work hard all day when all he does is troll the web daily for...never mind.

You wouldn't be intruding on my space if you wanted to come by the SoHo Dean & DeLuca, but it seems so out of your way since your preferred location is so far uptown. I guess CFOs can afford to live uptown. We lowly IT folk aren't usually allowed past 23rd Street.

I'm planning on making myself a lovely dinner on Sunday night, using the very recipe we've been discussing. Even though I live alone and will be cooking for one, there's no reason I shouldn't treat myself well. Especially since I have yet to find a proper date who will do it for me, at least some of the time.

Isabella Swan  
Independent Woman  
Cullen, Inc.

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**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan****  
****Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 2:16 PM**  
**Subject: Freshening Up**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I frequently order breakfast for both lunch and dinner. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I think it will jumpstart my day in some way, like I'm starting all over again.

And wanting a fresh start is what prompted me to leave PwC. As much as people like Whitlock annoy the hell out of me, I do like my job here at Cullen, Inc. I crunched a _lot _of numbers for my previous employer. But the division I was in was taken over by a crazy woman. (I will not name her, as I am afraid she will track this email down and attempt to "punish" me.) She kept hiring her friends, and suddenly life at the office was like a Diet Coke commercial. I was being objectified, you see. And yes, I meant "punish" in that way...

This email has been brought to you by the letters S & M. My apologies. I hope I have not disturbed you – it's just that it's better if I make light of the situation.

I am curious about Whitlock's internet usage. Are you allowed to tell me what he trolls the net for? If not, please tell me anyway. I have a flash card for the word _Please_: it's of me with puppy dog eyes.

Ah, yes, my salary is absurdly generous, thanks to Carlisle Cullen himself. But as I have indicated, I am not one of those people who insist on living in their Upper East Side bubble. You are quite welcome, also, to visit the Dean & DeLuca there.

Perhaps we could email each other while cooking on Sunday night? Please feel free to ignore me. I am not one to force my company on people. Company as in companionship, not Cullen, Inc. Obviously, we both work for the same company, as we are emailing each other due to my unauthorized Internet usage.

Sorry, I tend to ramble when flustered.

So you can imagine how much I rambled when I saw the red stain on my date's white dress. I kept talking and talking, about anything, until she herself spotted the stain. She yelled at me for not telling her about it! Apparently, it was a very expensive dress - she bought it that day at Bergdorf's. Clearly, my hesitance in pointing out the stain was related to the fact it looked like...well, _blood_. It turned out that it _was _blood, but not hers.

Edward Masen  
Not a fan of Diet Coke  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan**  
**To: Edward Masen  
Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010 at 4:25 PM**  
**Subject: It All Depends**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I don't often order breakfast outside of traditional breakfast time, except when it's brunch (or I'm forced to eat at IHOP by a face-licker). I do, however, have a fondness for brunch, and when I'm not at D&D on a Sunday morning, I can be found at_ Arlo & Esme_ on First Street. They have an amazing brunch that's also affordable (IT Manager's salary, remember?). I don't know if you often venture downtown, but if you do, you should try it.

You _know _Carlisle Cullen? I passed him in the hallway once and nearly peed myself. He's so tall and intimidating and powerful. And good-looking. Word around the office is that he's straight and unmarried. Since you know him, can you confirm or deny this? I'm just curious, mind you. Someone like me being with someone like Mr. Cullen is out of the realm of possibility.

I have to admit that your reference to punishments made me a bit uncomfortable. I know I asked, but I wasn't expecting an answer like that. I'm no prude, and I'm an adult woman who has certain needs, but said needs have never involved implements of punishment.

I'm not really supposed to discuss the Internet usage of other employees, especially those related to the boss and over company email. Though I am in a position to erase anything scandalous or untoward from our servers.

Maybe if you tell me more about your date, I'll share that information with you. You do know how to leave a girl hanging, don't you? Did you ever find out whose blood it was and how it got on her dress?

Emailing on Sunday night while cooking might be nice. I can walk you through any problems you have with the recipe and I can pick up my ingredients at D&D when I'm there for my breakfast on Sunday morning, and before my date on Sunday afternoon. Should we exchange personal email addresses?

Isabella "Vanilla" Swan  
Cullen, Inc.

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**Thank you so much for reading! We'll be updating next Wednesday!**

**For details on the recipe, visit the DMM blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Find us on Twitter: (at)jenndema and (at)belladonna1472**


	2. Chapter 2

**We're posting early because of the holiday in the United States this week. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 7:23 AM  
Subject: Keeping a Low Profile**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I do believe brunch is a fantastic mealtime. Thank you for the recommendation. I, too, like places with affordable prices.

It is funny, though, that you have mentioned an eatery called Arlo and Esme. I know I shouldn't indulge in office gossip, but Carlisle is actually dating someone named Esme. It's not the most common name, yet now I know of two. Anyway, I'll trust you not repeat this information about Carlisle – not everyone is privy to these facts and I don't want any trouble.

The problem with sexual harassment claims is that they can generate a high level of publicity, and damages aren't always satisfactory. I have many attorney friends who offered their assistance, but a few also laughed at my predicament. Another "friend" said I was ungrateful, basically insinuating that my looks are what got me the position at PwC in the first place.

On that note, I suppose I am only generally aware of what women consider attractive. Just so you know, at the office Christmas party last year, I was voted hottest EILF: Executive I'd Like to...well, you know. Needless to say, these shenanigans happened long after Carlisle and I left the party, since he would never condone such behavior. I was told about it the next day by one of the other executives. Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable again. I wanted to bring up the acronym because Carlisle found out about it and now he calls me Elf, like I'm some Lord of the Rings character.

I personally do not find Carlisle intimidating – he's quite a reasonable man. But he is powerful. If you do find him quite attractive, I hope you don't pee the next time you pass him in the hallway. Even if you did, he would be quite nice about it, I believe. He wouldn't demote you – he'd just give you a pamphlet on incontinence, call the janitor, and send you on your merry way.

I apologize for the toilet humor. Jasper Whitlock just popped into my office to ask me a series of stupid questions, and my mind must have regressed in order to get onto his level. We're talking basement level. I will endeavor to get back to my usual level of brain activity.

It turned out that the blood on my date's dress belonged to one of her workmates. She is in the infomercial business, you see, so I made a joke about how a ShamWow should've been able to mop up the spill. I was nervous! I was still flustered from the possibility that it could've been...um, menstrual blood. She went ballistic, accusing me of being an insensitive jerk. Her workmate had an accident that day when they were filming a demonstration for a new product. I will tell you more if you share some details about Whitlock's internet usage.

The email plan for Sunday sounds good. Here is my personal address: edwardisnotanelf (at) gmail (dot) com.

Did I read that correctly – you have a date for Sunday afternoon?

Edward Masen  
Taller than Carlisle Cullen  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 10:35 AM  
Subject: When a Problem Comes Along**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Are you trying to (not so subtly) tell me that you're good-looking? I've heard it all before, believe me. You're tall, dark, and handsome, wealthy and charming. I've met more toads than princes who said the very same things.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. My friend Rose tells me I'm jaded about men and relationships, and maybe she's right. I just wish someone would take the time to be real with me, you know? Obviously I'm not so jaded that I'm ready to give up since yes, I have a date on Sunday. He seems nice, so maybe this will be one of the few times since I've been in New York that I don't strike out.

You didn't make me uncomfortable with your EILF comment. I'm a big girl. I just don't particularly care for pain and punishment mixed with my pleasure. Not to say that those who partake are wrong; to each their own. But the only whipping I want to do is of cream to put on top of a cherry tart.

You shouldn't let the threat of bad publicity stop you from pursuing a lawsuit. Sexual harassment is a crime and you shouldn't have to put up with being objectified.

That must have been some Christmas party. I'm sorry I missed it, but I was hired just this spring. I can't imagine a man as stately and poised as Carlisle Cullen allowing those types of antics at his company Christmas party, so they must have really let loose after he left. I don't know if I'll be at this year's party, but if I am, and Mr. Cullen is going to be there, I'll make sure I don't drink a lot of water beforehand.

Speaking of Mr. Cullen, my lips are sealed about who he's dating, I promise. If the Esme he's dating and the Esme in Arlo and Esme happen to be the same woman, do you think there's a chance she has an opening in the kitchen? I wouldn't dream on asking you to find out for me, but if the subject ever comes up, I hope you'll think of me.

Here is a sampling of some of the sites Mr. Whitlock visited yesterday:

http:/ www (dot) webmd (dot) com/a-to-z-guides/flatulence-gas

www (dot) justinbiebermusic (dot) com/

http:/ lovebucketblog (dot) com/how-to-satisfy-your-wife-2/

Now I'd like to know more about this date. And the mystery blood.

My personal email address is: VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com. If all goes well, I should be home from my date by seven o'clock. He told me to dress casually, I hope that bodes well for the afternoon!

Isabella Swan  
Hoping to Hold It In  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 11:47 AM  
Subject: Vanity (not so) Fair**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I hope you don't think I am a vain creature – toad, elf or otherwise. I was just making conversation. If anything, the subject of my looks adds context to the fact I was sexually harassed. I'm not sure if you will sympathize with me on this point, but women are awfully fake with me; I can understand the need for someone real. Beauty can be a curse. Just please believe me when I say I don't stand in front of a magic mirror asking if I am the fairest of them all. I don't think of myself as a Prince Charming, I assure you. My hair is often messy, and I don't know how to ride a horse or wield a sword. Prince of Accounting, perhaps, but nothing more glamorous than that. I wield a calculator, or on a good day, very advanced accounting software.

I hope your date is not a toad. Kudos to you for not letting the NYC dating game bring you down.

Anyway...I really don't want to get embroiled in a lawsuit. If I were to sue, the publicity circus would make me feel like an exhibit, essentially recreating the feeling of being at PwC. I know there is an argument to be made that this is a matter of principle, that I should send a message to corporate America that such behavior is not okay. But I want to move on with my life and be happy. Does that make sense?

I'm not sure if Carlisle's Esme owns any property or businesses, but she is very well presented. I'll try to do some recon for you the next time I speak to Carlisle. May I ask why you haven't been able to find a job in a restaurant? Are there not many suitable placements? There are an awful lot of restaurants in this city, and you appear to be quite talented. I am interested in acquiring your cherry tart recipe if you are willing to share it. I like whipped cream, too.

Regarding Whitlock: Wow. Farting, Bieber, and erectile dysfunction. I will not be able to keep a straight face at the next board meeting. Hopefully not because Whitlock has farted. I want to say thank you for sharing this information...but now I'm not so sure. God, I wonder whether Whitlock pays attention to those spam emails about Viagra-type remedies. I suspect that asking further questions about his Internet history would be like opening Pandora's Box...

I wish someone would lock Bieber in a box.

With farts.

I'm sorry – that was awfully juvenile of me.

My date also thought I was immature. The demonstration she filmed that day was for a set of Sonic Ear type gadgets. You know, these earpieces that apparently let you eavesdrop on other people's conversations. The commercials always make them sound so fantastic; people hearing things like "Wow, Johnny's haircut is super neat!" or "If only I could tell Mary-Ann that I love her." In reality, what you'd really hear is something like "Johnny needs to cut his fucking mullet", or "Goddamnit, Mary-Ann borrowed my nose-hair trimmer and never gave it back." Anyway, her workmate had a defective earpiece, and when it emitted a high frequency wail into her ear, she stumbled from the pain and...

Sorry, I have to go. Whitlock needs me to explain the difference between income and expenditure again.

Just quickly – why is your nickname "Vanilla"?

Edward Masen  
Not Dropping Eaves  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 1:03 PM  
Subject: Reporting You to the Sierra Club**

Dear Mr. Masen,

You are a tease. I would love to hear the rest of that story some time, especially about why she found you juvenile and how the date ended. But I suppose having to explain something to Jasper Whitlock would be like speaking to a five year old, so your attention has to be focused.

I wonder why someone like you is single, which I assume you are unless you have a wife and are dating infomercial actresses on the side. Me, I understand. I'm plain (hence the "Vanilla" in my name), have trouble connecting with people and have a boring job that I'm passionless about. But at the very least, you're apparently the best looking executive at a Fortune 500 company and can wield a calculator like nobody's business. Despite the messy hair, you're probably quite a catch. Are you terribly picky, like you'll only date blondes who wear a size six shoe, have completely hairless bodies and can speak fluent Elvish? Or do you have some sort of weird fetish, like klismaphilia or dendrophilia?

I understand wanting to leave the harassment behind and just be happy, believe me. Don't we all have something in our past that we want to leave in the past? Some people switch jobs, some people move to a new city, but in the end, I'm not sure ignoring the past really makes it go away.

I try not to let the dating scene get me down, but it's hard sometimes. I came here for culinary school and never left, but meeting people has been difficult. I don't want to live anywhere else and like you said, there are so many restaurants here and I would hate to miss an opportunity to work in a New York City restaurant.

I've pounded the pavement looking for a job in a kitchen, believe me. There aren't a ton of high-end establishments hiring, and the ones that are pay so little that I wouldn't be able to afford to live here anymore. Even if I moved to Brooklyn, the entry-level salaries are so low that I would just barely be getting by, so if there was ever an emergency, I might find myself in some dire circumstances; homeless, or worse. Then there's the issue of benefits, which Cullen, Inc. provides very generously.

I hope I don't sound as if I'm complaining. I feel very fortunate to work here. I would appreciate any information you could garner from Mr. Cullen regarding his friend's restaurant, or lack thereof. I'm not sure what good it will do, though. If I ever had to speak to him about it, I'm afraid I might relieve myself mid-sentence. I have a bag of clothes stashed in my desk just in case I ever run into him again.

My cherry tart recipe is quite good, if I do say so myself. Do you like to bake? I don't do much of it outside Christmas cookies (which I haven't done in a few years) and the occasional tart and cake. I prefer the freedom of cooking to the rigidity of baking.

Isabella Swan  
Always Prepared  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 3:40 PM  
Subject: A Cut Above The Rest**

Dear Ms. Swan,

Oh, it's not entirely clear why my date found me to be so juvenile. Apparently, every reaction I had made her think I was seventeen. Maybe she wanted me to be seventeen, I don't know. Maybe she wants to be seventeen. That would explain the plastic surgery.

Okay, I admit to laughing when she explained her friend stumbled and fell over. But you must understand, she reenacted her workmate's fall, and it was so comical. She even insisted on using her infomercial voice, which I found to be quite strange. Was she trying to sell me this stumble and fall technique? I doubt a company could trademark such a maneuver, but then again, I am not an expert on intellectual property law. So, her workmate fell down, and the earpiece kept screaming. The earpiece was seemingly stuck in her ear. There was twitching. The reenactment looked like a white fish was having a seizure – there was much flailing. I initially pointed out that her precious dress was being dirtied by my floor, but I quickly corrected myself, as my floor wasn't really dirty. After an argument about cleaning products, during which she tried to sell me two mops and three different types of cleaning solution – with a bonus mop head if I made the purchase in the next fifteen minutes – she finally explained the blood. Her workmate was assisted by the cameraman at first, but since her husband was filming a commercial for knives in the next studio, the husband was called. He was so panicked about his wife possibly going deaf that he hugged her while still holding the knife. I know, I didn't believe the story at first either, which made my date very angry. I made a van Gogh joke, because when you think about it, her workmate could've had her ear chopped off by her husband. The blood got on my date's dress when she came to her workmate's assistance and told the husband to dial 911 instead of turning the commercial into a slasher flick.

I don't usually laugh at other people's pain. I assure you this was an isolated incident, and that I was actually quite horrified. I felt so badly afterward that I sent an anonymous "Get Well" card to the company, along with a bouquet of daisies. It's just that at the time, my date was getting on my nerves; it's possible I wanted to drive her away. She insisted on staying for dinner, though.

I am unmarried, and I will certainly not be dating any more infomercial actresses. I like to think that I am a catch, but I've been quite unlucky in love. I am indeed very picky. These hairless blondes with small feet you have described sound like a new type of doll released by Mattel. I don't think regular Barbies can speak Elvish, but hey, what do I know? I don't play with dolls – Barbies, blow-up, or otherwise. Will you grant me some unauthorized web usage so I can look up 'klismaphilia' and 'dendrophilia'?

I am surprised at the negative connotations you have attached to the flavor vanilla. Vanilla is a fantastic flavor and is often underappreciated. It goes with everything! (Which is not to say you go well with every guy...I do not mean to insinuate you get around.) You can always trust vanilla to taste good. Do you remember when Ben & Jerry's had that competition to see what crazy flavor to bring back from the dead? Gravy was the winner. Gravy ice-cream? They re-discontinued the line within a month. You don't want to be gravy, Ms. Swan. The only bad things I can think of in regard to the flavor vanilla are the rapper Vanilla Ice, and a strange-tasting vanilla slice I once bought from a bakery on Park Avenue. Other than that, I can only think of good things.

I am sorry to hear about your difficulties in finding your dream job. I frequently dine at a lot of establishments throughout the Upper East Side and Midtown, so I will keep an ear out for any opportunities for you. Maybe I'll even buy a Sonic Ear so I can eavesdrop on the kitchen staff, although I wouldn't like to have them come after me with a knife for invading their privacy.

I do like to bake, though I can see what you mean about it being rigid. Maybe that's why I like it so much. There's less of a chance of me screwing up if the method is cut and dried, so to speak. It's set, like dealing with numbers.

Edward Masen  
Not a Ken doll  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
Date: Friday, June 4, 2010 at 5:48 PM  
Subject: Making Whoo(pi)**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I think you played this whole date wrong. After she offered to sell you the two mops and three cleaning solutions, you should have taken the bait. But only if she offered you a free demonstration. You would have gotten free cleaning services, and probably a couple of laughs as she pitched her product to you. She might have even left the samples behind.

I'm going to assume that you don't suffer from either klismaphilia or dendrophilia since you don't know what they mean. But if you feel as if you need to know what they mean immediately, I'll erase the evidence from the server. Believe me, it wouldn't do for anyone to know you had been researching these conditions on company time. You might be on the other end of a harassment lawsuit, and I wouldn't want that for you; you seem like a kind person.

It shouldn't surprise me that you like to bake, considering what you've chosen to do for a living. Most number crunchers I've known have been rather stringent in their ways. I dated an accountant for a while and when we went out to eat, he would calculate the amount I owed on the check down to the cent. I learned to keep coins and small bills in my purse when we went out – I once handed him forty dollars when I owed thirty-two dollars and fifty four cents and he started to hyperventilate at the table because he didn't have change to give me. When I calmly explained that I was sure the server could bring us change, he shook his head and muttered something about "hippies" and explained to me the benefits of a slow-growth retirement account for someone my age. I'm still not sure what one had to do with the other, but he periodically left IRA pamphlets in my apartment. And I don't mean Irish Republican Army. I don't think he was enthusiastic about anything other than numbers. Sometimes, when we were being intimate, he would call out 3.14159 over and over again.

I hadn't heard about Ben & Jerry's Gravy ice cream, and I'm almost tempted to make you prove that it actually happened. Though I suppose gravy is more desirable than the unidentified brown sauce that was on my companion's Salisbury Steak. Or was it his mother? I've tried to block it out and the exact details are escaping me.

Vanilla can be delicious, I know, and thank you for being so kind. I'm actually quite passionate about the things that interest me and the people I care about. It's just that it's difficult to be passionate about the computer business. Someone actually called the other day, screaming at me that his computer kept telling him it couldn't "find" the printer, even though he unplugged it and placed it directly in front of the monitor.

I should go since it's getting on six o'clock on a Friday and the office is emptying out. I look forward to our dinner date on Sunday evening. But maybe I shouldn't call it a date since having two dates in one day would make me somewhat less "Vanilla."

Isabella Swan  
Not a Slut  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward edwardisnotanelf (at) gmail (dot) com  
To: Bella VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 5:55 PM  
Subject: American Pi**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I know you are currently out on your date, but I thought I'd email you now, as I have a few things to discuss.

Firstly, I looked up both klismaphilia and dendrophilia on my laptop here at home. I am very glad I did not Google these fetishes at work, even though you made it clear you would erase the evidence. I will not comment on klismaphilia, as I do not want the both of us to lose our appetite. As for dendrophilia – clearly some people take the idea of loving the environment too far. And I thought tree-hugging was bad.

With that out of the way, I must comment on another matter you raised. I do not approve of this accountant you dated. He seems like a miser. If I took a woman out for dinner, I would pay the bill. Even if I weren't as wealthy as I am now, I would still insist on this policy. Furthermore, a woman should not be expected to carry around petty cash and inconvenient amounts of coinage, unless the date is of course at one of the following three places: a) gaming arcade; b) laundromat; or c) yard sale. However, any man who takes you on a date to a) play Dance Dance Revolution; b) do his laundry; or c) help him buy a secondhand chess set for his Uncle Johnny, needs to buy himself a clue. He may argue that the only way he can afford such a clue is if he continues to penny-pinch – in that case please send said cheapskate to my office so I can bribe him to leave you alone. I'm sure a coupon book would do the trick, though he may insist on being reimbursed for travel costs, too.

I'm sorry – I just get really irritated by accountants who take the number thing too far. I also find it strange that this accountant regularly called out 3.14159 while making love to you. Why truncate at five decimal places? If the point of yelling out pi was related to the fact that pi is a dimensionless physical constant, hence representative of the pleasure involved, I would have simply called out 'pi'. Even though you are a trained chef, I'm sure you would have been able to distinguish the quantity pi from, say, an apple pie. Forgive me if I am being presumptuous – perhaps he did start off saying 'pi', only to be told baked goods belonged in the kitchen and not your bedroom.

It is possible that Ben & Jerry's Gravy ice-cream was indeed a relative of the Unidentifiable Brown Sauce. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it was the Sauce's cousin, twice-removed. Or should I say twice-regurgitated?

On a more appetizing note, I bought all the ingredients for the shrimp pasta this morning at D&D. I will wait for you to return home before telling you the latest Stock Boy story.

I hope your date went well.

Edward Masen  
Judgmental Accountant  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 7:24 PM  
Subject: Switching Teams**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Firstly, allow me to apologize for being late to our cook-along. I had no idea my date would run so long, or that the day would go quite as it did. But I had to run to the dry cleaner after I got home and have just gotten back.

My accountant friend was indeed thrifty, but I don't mind paying for my fair share when going out on a date. From a woman's perspective (this woman, anyway), it's preferable to pay for at least half the bill. When a man pays there's always a feeling like I owe him something. Inevitably, that something is a grope at the front door, and I just don't want to feel like I need to let a man feel up my ass because he paid for dinner. I know not every man would expect such things, but some do, so better safe than sorry.

He was actually a very nice person, pi references and all. And I think if calling out pi was representative of the pleasure involved in making love to me, then truncating it to simply "pi" would have been an insult. He should have called out pi to at least 3. 141592 653589 793238 462643 38327 950. If I do say so myself.

My date today was...interesting. It started off well enough; we went for lunch at a nice café and then we went for a walk in Roosevelt Park. He was smart and funny and interesting and I had a really nice time. It was the best date I've had in a long, long time.

Until he took me home.

See, I had a nice time, like I mentioned, so I figured a good night kiss in front of my apartment door was in order. And well, one kiss turned into a few more and the next thing I knew he was...well, apparently he was enjoying the kiss because...I don't think I can say. What I can say is that he won't be getting a second date, but he will be getting a dry-cleaning bill.

So, I'm officially giving up on dating. That's it. Finished. I've met more losers in this city than I can count. I'm going to move to Vermont, become a lesbian, and make artisanal cheese. Perhaps you can give me tips on how to woo a woman. You seem like a man who would take his time and treat a woman properly. Except when laughing at her misfortune, of course. As a matter of fact, the infomercial actress sounded nice, think she'd be interested? She could support us by doing SlapChop commercials until my cheese business takes off.

I'm ready to erase the memory of that lunch with dinner tonight. I'll assume you have the recipe in front of you and that you'll email me if you have any questions.

I'm intrigued by your mention of a new stock boy story. I look forward to hearing (reading) it.

Isabella Swan  
Lesbian-in-Training

* * *

**Thank you for the response to chapter one. To say we're overwhelmed is an understatement.**

**Thank you to SR for betaing and to Lucette212 for pre-reading, and to nerac and bellamarie117 for their recs of dmm. We feel very lucky to have such good people supporting us.**

**From here on, we're going to be on an every other week posting schedule. Thank you in advance for your continued interest and for your patience.**

**_Arlo & Esme_ is a real restaurant in Manhattan that has a very good, very affordable brunch: http : / www . arloandesme . com/**

**Follow us on twitter: belladonna1472 and jenndema**

**DMM blog: http: / /dearmrmasen . blogspot . com/**

**Happy Thanksgiving to our readers in the U.S. See you in two weeks.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to SR and Lucette212 for their work on this chapter.

Sorry we didn't respond to all of the reviews for the last chapter. We tried. But please know that we read and appreciate each one, especially all of the bad date stories you've shared.

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**

* * *

**

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 7:31 PM**  
**Subject: Hands On**

Dear Ms. Swan,

Before I express my condolences for the fact you had another disastrous date (or at least a disastrous end to a date), I have to clarify my position on the pi issue. Calling out pi would be referencing pi in its purest form, an acknowledgment of its infinite quality. I hope you won't mind me saying this, but if an accountant truly enjoyed being in bed with you, truncating at thirty-two decimal places would still be an inadequate representation. I would much prefer it if you were told that the pleasure couldn't be quantified, that it was all-encompassing and of a magnitude so unfathomable that even the most skilled super-computer would fail in its measurements.

Speaking of failing and measurements, I hate to ask, but feel I must: what happened at the door that prompted you to visit the dry-cleaners right away? If you are telling me to read between the lines because you cannot bear to tell the story, then feel free to leave me to my imagination. I'm currently imagining that this man thought he was owed something, despite the fact you paid for your own lunch. Apparently, kisses were not enough? Oh, I feel ill thinking about it. I am so sorry.

I don't think you should quit dating. While I do enjoy many types of Vermont cheese, especially cheddar, perhaps all you need is a break from the dating game. Or maybe you need to look elsewhere in NYC. May I ask where you find these men in the first place, these men who disappoint you?

I like to think I'd know how to woo a woman if I was so inclined, but lately I've been having more success with the Stock Boy at D&D, albeit unintentionally. I usually try not to talk to him, but it was imperative today that I find all the ingredients for this pasta. I had to ask him for more stock of a particular brand of heavy cream. For some reason, he thought I was trying to start a conversation, when really all I needed was cream. Things worsened from there.

Please do not become a lesbian and move interstate. If you do, I will be forced to take culinary advice from Rachael Ray or some other Food Network hack, which would undoubtedly lead to disaster. And you know what also leads to disaster? The SlapChop. I don't own a ShamWow (if I did, I would've loaned it to you for your, er, date), but the SlapChop is promoted by the same guy, and he was just so convincing in the commercial. Clearly I am too trusting of people in the infomercial business. He actually declares at the start: "You're going to be in a great mood all day because you're going to be slapping your troubles away with the SlapChop." Now, I would recommend slapping your dating troubles away with a SlapChop, but I know the device is less than satisfactory.

This is why I am chopping up the shallot, jalapeno, tomato, parsley and oregano by hand. And by hand, I mean knife. As in I'm holding a knife and chopping. Sorry, I just wanted to make it clear I wasn't Edward Scissorhands.

Edward Masen  
Food Network Skeptic

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 7:45 PM**  
**Subject: Over Easy**

Dear Mr. Masen (or should I be calling you by your first name out of the office?),

I suppose it's possible that my accountant friend somehow found me lacking in the intimacy department, therefore he thought it appropriate to truncate pi to only five places. So perhaps what he chose to shout out says more about me than it does about him.

I think you can guess how my date ended. I don't want to get too detailed, as it's inappropriate, but let's just say he _really_ enjoyed our kiss. So much so that he felt it necessary to bring himself to completion on my shirt. I'm surprised I didn't notice, but he really was a very good kisser and I was distracted. I don't know why he thought that was acceptable behavior, and I'm sure the disgusted look on my face as I saw what was dripping from my shirt gave away my feelings on the subject, yet he still managed an "I'll call you!" as I slammed the door in his face.

Even more mortifying was my trip to the dry-cleaner. I showed him the stain and he asked me what it was – to better be able to remove it, you see. My dry-cleaner, a very nice old man named Sid, then proceeded to scratch at it with his fingernail and bring it up to his face to smell it. Thinking quickly as my face turned the same shade as the tomatoes I'm cutting right now, I told him it was egg white. If it wasn't one of my favorite shirts I would have burned it in disgust in the courtyard of my building. I'm still considering it, depending on what it looks like when I pick it up.

Sadly, I'm sure, somehow, were I to switch teams, I would be just as disappointed with my dating prospects. I've been very unlucky in love, my accountant friend being the last long term relationship I had, and that was well over a year ago. I think I'm developing androphobia. I do like cheese, though, so maybe it's worth a try. If nothing else, maybe a change of scenery would do me some good. I thought for a while that New York and I were a perfect match, but I'm no longer so sure.

Though according to the SlapChop commercial I just watched, my wretched, boring life will change completely if I'm able to chop half of a tiny potato in this mechanism. Was your "friend" in this commercial? Is that why you dated her? Perhaps there's some sort of subliminal messaging going on. Because I couldn't imagine why a seemingly very intelligent man would fall for this. Do you know how long it would take to chop everything we need for the dish we're preparing with that thing? We'd be here until tomorrow. This guy was making salsa a teaspoon at a time. You realize that everything he put in the SlapChop was _already chopped_, right? He didn't put a whole _anything_ in there. So why not just go crazy and _keep chopping_ with your _knife_? I'd like to slap him for roping in unsuspecting consumers.

I'm sorry. I apparently have very strong feelings about products pitched by scary men who wear headsets and shout at me and tell me that my life sucks. I wonder...if I buy a SlapChop _and_ a ShamWow, will I be beautiful, rich and in a rewarding career and relationship? Further investigation may be required.

My ingredients are chopped (via knife) and I'm about to put my pasta in the boiling water. I'll wait patiently for the rest of your Stock Boy story.

Isabella Swan  
Infomercial Skeptic

* * *

**From: Edward **  
**To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:02 PM**  
**Subject: Sunny Side Up**

Dear Ms. Swan,

(Yes, you may call me Edward outside of work hours. May I also call you Isabella?)

I am mortified for you. I don't think I'll ever look at egg white quite the same again. I will refrain from putting you through the discomfort of discussing the story further, but I do hope your shirt turns out okay. If you do decide to burn it, make sure you do it at a suitable location. I would hate for the authorities to interrupt your little bonfire and ask you what it is you're doing. That being said, perhaps a good-looking cop will show up at the scene, and whisk you away for a weekend in Vermont. You'll eat cheese, and enjoy each other's company.

You see, I'm prone to being strangely optimistic in certain circumstances. I think there's a part of me that wants to believe that there's a happy ending for all of us. Of course, this optimism does make me gullible to some extent. Wouldn't it be wonderful if investing in some ridiculous chopping device really could make our lives so much easier? My "friend" was not involved in the SlapChop commercial, but she knew how to appeal to my sense of hope when she asked me out. I do believe that there's someone out there for me, not necessarily for three easy installments of $19.99 plus postage and handling, of course, but for the price of love.

I don't even think I noticed that the ingredients in the commercial were already chopped. I suppose sometimes I miss things that are right in front of me. I'm not completely hopeless, though – please believe me when I say that I didn't take the Headset Guy seriously when he declared "This tuna looks boring. Stop having a boring tuna. Stop having a boring life." Life is more complicated than replacing tuna in one's diet, and I certainly don't always think that someone with a headset is suddenly more wise than everyone else. Jasper Whitlock once spent an entire board meeting trialing a new cell phone headset, but he got frustrated and gave up. He ripped it off his head and flung the set away, only to hit his father-in-law in the side of the head. Trust me, I was almost ready to whip out the flashcard for 'stupid'. I should probably update that flashcard with a picture of the SlapChop, but then again, I think that image would be interpreted as 'cut it out' by the average person, or simply 'small alien pod device' by someone of Jasper's intelligence.

After Stock Boy went on a tangent and explained something about his favorite hand cream, he finally went to find more heavy (non-hand) cream for me. When he returned, he tripped over his own feet and dropped several containers of cream on the floor. His manager came over and yelled at him – she was a cranky woman who seemed to be angry at me for requesting the item in the first place. Her nostrils kept flaring. It was very unattractive. I really don't like being grouched at when I shop for groceries. Are the people at _your _D&D this grumpy?

I've placed the linguine in the pot. What's the best way to determine whether the pasta is al dente? I usually just guess – another instance where optimism may fail me.

Edward Masen  
Inappropriately Optimistic

* * *

**From: Bella **  
**To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:07 PM**  
**Subject: Can You Keep a Secret?**

Dear Edward,

I'd be pleased if you called me Bella. It's the name my friends used and since I've already (perhaps inappropriately so) told you about my date taking it out during our good night kiss, I think all formalities are out the window. Maybe my date and your stock boy could get together and discuss the merits of different types of hand cream. Its uses seem to occupy an inordinate amount of time for both of them.

I'm generally an optimistic person, but you'll pardon me if I'm turning cynical where dating is concerned. On my last two dates, one brought along his mother and took me to Staten Island for a $12.99 Early Bird Special (a free cup of Jell-o at the end!), and the other thought, somehow, that it was acceptable to rub one out while kissing me good night. Though maybe I should take heart in the fact that my kissing skills were so superior that he simply couldn't contain his ardor. You know I'm getting desperate when I can find the positive in that situation. I fear I might actually call him for a second date. I mean, he was interesting and did make me laugh when he wasn't gratifying himself in my hallway. Was what he did really that bad? I'm honestly feeling conflicted about this.

The people at my D&D are actually very nice and haven't ever been grumpy with me. I would imagine this is because of the outrageous prices they charge for food. Granted, it's gourmet and one can find products there that aren't available anywhere else, but if one is paying ten dollars a pound for butter, some courtesy should be mandatory. Perhaps you should slum it and take a cab ride downtown to SoHo.

I wish I could do all of my shopping at D&D, but alas, sometimes a trek to the Fairway in Harlem is worth the trip. Especially since I've been saving up for this certain type of cheese they sell at D&D. It's called _Pule_ and it's about six hundred dollars per pound. I've been putting money aside for a few weeks and hope to have enough saved to buy myself a small piece as a Christmas present. If I don't buy myself something, it's possible no one will. Unless I call the masturbator. Though I suspect his gift might be of a more physical nature.

There's a secret to testing pasta but telling you would be akin to breaking the Magician's Code. We have a Chef's Code, if you will. I'll tell you but you have to promise not to tell anyone. I could have my chef's coat taken away.

Bella  
The Masked Chef

* * *

**From: Edward **  
**To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:12 PM**  
**Subject: Branching Out**

Dear Bella,

Come to think of it, I _should _visit the SoHo store. The benefits of such a trip would be numerous. Firstly, I'd be able to return to my regular store with a heightened knowledge of what should be stocked and what price it should be sold at. By no means am I someone who, say, haggles for a better price on shrimp. But I _would _like to refute a certain nostril-flaring manager if she tells me again that the heavy cream I prefer is not a highly sought item. She seemed to think the cream was like a leprechaun's pot of gold, something that legend says appears at the end of a rainbow but doesn't really exist. (Yes, how _dare _I ask dear Stock Boy to retrieve it for me.) If I know one thing about grocery shopping, it's this: the dairy aisle is not a rainbow. It should be stocked rain or shine, or in the case of an actual rainbow, rain _and _shine.

Instead of my AmEx, I should pay for my items with leprechaun's gold and see how they like it when it mysteriously disappears from their register. This, broadly speaking, is probably what happened to the funds in Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

Secondly, venturing to another store would allow me to avoid Stock Boy and his recommendations on hand cream. Yes, he should meet up with your date. It's an infomercial waiting to happen. I know your date has problems with waiting, but at least he'd give potential customers a bonus before they've even committed to buying the actual product. It _is _a buyer's market, after all.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I'd be able to purchase the _Pule _cheese you've been eyeing. I can arrange to have it delivered to your office. Consider this compensation for breaking the Chef's Code – I really would like to know this pasta-testing secret. Please do not protest about the price. After all, money that could have gone into your cheese fund was instead expended on dry-cleaning. Stupid masturbator and his cheese-denying ways. I cannot stand by and do nothing – which is actually what he should have done instead of getting overexcited.

I apologize for maligning him so. You did say he was nice.

I hope you can break the Chef's Code without getting into trouble. I've heard of magicians disappearing after breaking the Magician's Code, but maybe that's because they didn't know how to reappear (I imagine that too is a secret). I sincerely hope the Chef's Code isn't anything like the Da Vinci Code – if I have to traverse the world a la Tom Hanks to retrieve the secret, then I'll bow out gracefully, thank you very much. Notwithstanding the amount of effort and danger involved, it would also be difficult to get the extra vacation time approved. If Carlisle had it his way, I wouldn't have any vacation time at all – he doesn't like it when I have to delegate my work to someone else. It's a shame, really, as I wouldn't mind being afforded some more time off. I'd love to go traveling with an intelligent brunette, like Hanks' character got to do (minus the danger, of course.) Alas, that dream is out of reach. I hope my imaginary brunette isn't dating a leprechaun, because that would really annoy me.

I await your pasta guidance. While I wait, I will prepare the sauce.

Edward  
Over the Rainbow

* * *

**From: Bella **  
**To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:32 PM**  
**Subject: Shhhhh**

Dear Edward,

Sorry my email is a bit late in arriving. My friend called to find out how my date was. Needless to say, she wasn't amused. After convincing her that sending her husband to the masturbator's apartment to rip off the offending appendage wasn't the solution to my problem, I made the mistake of telling her I might call him again. She said no one was that desperate, me included. She's right, of course. I have no idea what I was thinking by wanting to see this guy again. She rightly pointed out that if he got off so quickly that I didn't even have time to notice he was doing it, things probably wouldn't be much better if we were more intimate. Plus, he rubbed one out in my hallway. Really, that should be enough of a reason to stay away.

Please, do not under any circumstances buy that cheese for me. I appreciate the kind offer, but it would make me terribly uncomfortable to accept such an expensive gift from someone I barely know. Besides, I think I mentioned how I feel about men purchasing things for me. Would you expect a grope in return? Perhaps in the executive washroom? Is there such a thing at Cullen, Inc.?

I'm sorry you have trouble with Mr. Cullen allowing you time off. You do have vacation time, don't you? I'm sure that not allowing you vacation and personal days breaks a myriad of labor laws, but maybe you executive folk live under a different set of rules. I'm still pretty new at Cullen, Inc., so I don't have any vacation available to me yet. I'll get a week in a few months; I don't know how I'll use it, but I'm hoping to save it so I can go somewhere fun, hopefully at Christmastime.

Maybe I'll go to Ireland and try to find some leprechauns. I happen to be a brunette, so perhaps you'd like to come with me. We can search for rainbows and pots of gold, eat potatoes and look at the rolling green hills. Also, we can get drunk on good Irish whiskey every night.

Okay, here's the secret. Please don't tell anyone I told you. The trick to discerning if you have perfectly cooked al dente pasta is to lift some out of the boiling water with a wooden spoon, take one piece gently between your fingers, and put it in your mouth. Chew. Using your best judgment, decide if the level of firmness is to your liking. If it is, pour the water and pasta in a colander to drain. If not, cook it longer. Repeat.

Mine is about finished cooking. Ready to eat?

Bella  
Wise Ass

* * *

**From: Edward **  
**To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:40 PM**  
**Subject: Who Moved My Cheese?**

Dear Bella,

Yes, I agree – do not call the masturbator. He'll pick up the phone and immediately assume you've called him to initiate another date, thereby initiating another premature reaction to the end of said date. You'll literally be creating a mess, and while you might not have to pay for a dry-cleaning bill this time around, there might be another Sid out there who's never really been much of a 'scratch and sniff' fan.

Okay, I will honor your wishes and refrain from purchasing the cheese for you. But you must note that I _did _want to buy the cheese for you, and that I _didn_'_t_ expect a grope in return. As a victim of sexual harassment, it would be especially untoward of me to initiate some sort of Cheese for Gropes scandal. Cheddar for a cheek grab? Jack for a jacking off? Camembert for a come-in-bare? Not only would the incidents be mortifying, but the cases of runaway alliteration would be especially heinous.

I'm not at liberty to either confirm or deny the existence of an executive washroom. What I will say, however, is that there needs to be a place where executives can clean up after unfortunate accidents. I am not referring to my colleagues rubbing one out in the hallway, but to situations where it would be less than dignified for board members to stroll down to the regular bathrooms. The whole company does not need to see, say, Whitlock running around after spilling a carafe of cranberry juice on himself. People might get the wrong idea and assume the worst: that Human Resources is now literally cutting staff, or that the executives are _actually _stabbing each other in the back.

According to labor laws – or the lack of provision thereof – employers are not actually required to grant vacation time. That being said, I am entitled to four weeks of annual vacation time, something which is supposed to be negotiable. I think Carlisle is afraid of the company collapsing if I leave for an extra week or two. I don't think that's necessarily a testament to my work, but rather a distrust of other people touching his company's money. Perhaps think of it this way: if we were playing monopoly, I'd be the banker. Carlisle would be the player who'd insist on stopping play while I took a bathroom break. He'd be irrationally afraid that another player – or temporary replacement – would only mess up the system and funds I so dutifully looked after. I don't resent him for his paranoia. What is it they say? Don't hate the player, hate the game?

I don't actually hate monopoly, by the way. If you are so inclined, maybe we can add board games to the list of activities we could partake in during a trip to Ireland. They have _Travel Monopoly_, which could come in handy if the in-flight movie happened to be boring. If I drink enough Irish whiskey, I might even get into a round of fisticuffs with a leprechaun (although perhaps not on a plane, as that would make people nervous.) The motive for such a fistfight? Well, I am going to assume in advance that the leprechaun would try and steal you from me, as you'd be my brunette companion. _Elf v. Leprechaun_ – someone could film it and screen it on domestic flights in Ireland.

Oh, you are indeed a _wise ass_. Turns out the Chef's Code is merely a collection of tips and tricks that everyone already knows, or should know. There must be a code above the Chef's Code, which _actually _involves the tricks of the trade, like the ingredient substitutions you gave me earlier. An Iron Chef's Code. It's okay – I'm content to be the lackey who buys the 'special ingredient' but never makes anything special out of it.

I _will _thank you for improving this pasta, however. I've started eating, and it tastes delicious! Much better than last time. I've even selected a good wine to accompany the dish that seems to enhance the flavor even more.

Edward  
Dreaming of a Green Christmas

* * *

**From: Bella **  
**To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 8:56 PM**  
**Subject: Baby Talk**

Dear Edward,

You're right, of course. If I called the masturbator, the phone call would no doubt include heavy breathing and questions like "What are you wearing?" and "Do you like it when I do that to you, baby?". I'm just not going to subject myself to that. Plus, I hate being called baby. I'm an adult woman.

My lack of knowledge of labor law would be disturbing if it weren't so sad. No one cares if I take a week off. There's always another basement-dwelling, Dungeons & Dragons playing, comic book collecting geek ready to take my place. I'm relatively normal (as compared), so I'm lucky to have gotten the job at all. You should see some of the winners I work with down there. The guy at the desk next to mine has a Captain Picard bobblehead and _Hot Women of Sci-Fi_ calendar. This month is _Xena: Warrior Princess_. I didn't know who the "Hot Woman" who was featured last month was, and when I asked I was rather testily told something about _Star Trek_ and seven nines. It was confusing but I didn't asking him to clarify. I just turned up my music to drown out his mouth-breathing and went back to my work.

You have Jasper Whitlock, I have the Mouth-Breather. So no matter where we empty our bladders or stand in front of a mirror trying to tame our constantly messy hair, we both have to deal with less-than-desirable co-workers. Where you do it just might smell a little fresher.

I think _I_ would need to be the one to worry about someone stealing _you_ away on our trip to Ireland. Unlike you, I've never won any sort of – ILF award. Though maybe if I'm with someone as ostensibly good-looking as yourself, the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle will undoubtedly think there's something special about me, and thus try to steal me from you. It could turn into a (non-Da Vinci Code like) adventure where you race across Europe trying to rescue me from sinister kidnappers. That could be fun! As long as they were nice kidnappers who let me stop and sight-see and put us up in nice hotels as they continually outwitted you. Free tour of Europe!

Thank you for honoring my wishes about the cheese. I'm not trying to be difficult and it was very kind of you to offer, especially sans the grope. But I'm happy to help you with your cooking. It's something I enjoy so it doesn't ever feel like work to me.

I'm also enjoying the pasta. My dish is perfectly prepared with a profusion of pepper and plenty of palatable pasta. Proper planning and precaution was the principal purpose for the preferment.

Pardon my heinous runaway alliteration. I couldn't help it. I've really enjoyed cooking with you. We'll have to do it again some time.

Bella  
Perfectly Pleased and Peaceful

* * *

**From: Edward**  
**To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 9:12 PM**  
**Subject: Travel Insurance**

Dear Bella,

I'm sure someone would care if you took the week off from work. For what it's worth, _I _would miss you, although I suppose you'd still be able to email me from wherever you happened to be. I'm not sure whether you'd like to sign-up for the job on a long-term basis, but _someone _has to listen to my ramblings; I enjoy conversing with you greatly.

It is mildly comical that your colleagues insist on playing Dungeons & Dragons (the less gourmet D&D) in a basement of all places. It makes me think that all the IT workers are literally chained to their desks, with an actual dragon guarding the door. I don't know – maybe your supervisor is indeed a dragon who spits out fire when irritated. Maybe all this mouth-breathing business is just a sad imitation of said dragon's fire-breathing capabilities. I hope you're drowning out Mr. Mouth-Breather with something worthwhile, as opposed to simply blasting the epic theme music that accompanies whatever nerdy mission everyone is on.

Furthermore, I am not a Trekkie, and have been known to get annoyed when quizzed on the _Star Trek vs Star Wars_ debate. If your colleagues ever get too annoying, I can always send someone from my division to save the day. Not by slaying a dragon, of course, but by simply threatening to slash the computer budget unless everyone removes all their comic book memorabilia.

Also, I would not allow myself to be stolen on our trip. As for _you _being snatched from _me_...I suppose I can see the appeal of an _Amazing Race_ type chase throughout Europe. But I'm not sure about this idea of me being constantly outwitted – even though I'd be faking it, I don't like people thinking I'm stupid. If someone was indeed crafty enough to take you from me the first place, sheer pride would drive me to find you as soon as possible. Well, pride, and the fact that I wouldn't want to be running over the rolling green hills of Ireland _alone_. In fact, here's an easy solution: maybe _I _should be the kidnapper. That way, you'd be able to take more than a week off – the circumstances would be out of your control. All you'd have to do is explain to HR that the CFO has taken you hostage and is demanding that you cook him delicious meals as he travels around Europe. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.

And you know, maybe you haven't won an -ILF award because you haven't had a chance to be nominated yet. If we continue with this kidnapping idea, I could even term you my HILF: Hostage I'd Like To...you know.

No, I wouldn't sully your reputation like that. It was just an idea. I'm sorry, please don't think ill of me for typing that. I contemplated deleting what I wrote, but that felt like lying, so I figured I'd apologize and hope you'd understand. Just because you're apparently a fantastic kisser, doesn't mean I should project my loneliness onto you. Please forgive me, Bella.

Thank you again for the great meal. We should definitely do this again. I'm afraid this will be the last email for tonight (unless you choose to reply with a declaration that I am an ass), as I have a few accounts to look over before retiring to bed. Come to think of it, I _will _check in later, just to apologize again if you do reply with such a declaration.

Enjoy the rest of your evening.

Edward  
Respectful Kidnapper

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 9:45 PM  
Subject: Red-Haired Temptresses**

Dear Edward,

Would you really miss me? Wow, that's incredibly sweet. And here I thought men who worked with numbers all day were incapable of anything remotely emotional. Once again, I've been proven wrong. Even though we've only been exchanging emails for a short time, I'm sure I would miss them (and you) should they suddenly stop.

Just so we're clear, I'm in no way offended and don't think you're an ass. You've been very kind to me, especially considering that we've never met in person. Again, I have to stress my surprise that you're lonely. EILF-y men who are charming and kind are a rare find and I'm shocked that a good woman hasn't snatched you up. Since we've ruled out fetishes and plastic women, perhaps you're not looking? I know it can be tempting to throw in the towel, but compulsive masturbators and infomercial actresses aside, I'm sure there's someone out there for both of us.

Are you certain you wouldn't allow yourself to be stolen on our trip? Have you ever been to Ireland? I haven't, but I'm sure there would be any number of red haired, green eyed lasses throwing themselves at an EILF such as yourself. Whereas I'm plain and soft-spoken, they might entice you with their exotic looks and seductive accents. I would understand. We would only be traveling companions, after all.

The idea of you kidnapping me does have a certain amount of appeal. We could make our own adventure, just without the chasing and the outwitting and the, you know, whole breaking the law thing. I would be a very willing kidnapee. Do you think you could arrange with Mr. Cullen for me to have more than one week of paid vacation? If we're going to Europe, I want to enjoy my time and not rush since I may never get back there. By the way, as my kidnapper, would you expect me to pay for any part of the "vacation"? If so, you may have to hold me hostage in a youth hostel as opposed to a luxury hotel. The hotel rooms you're used to staying in are probably bigger than my apartment, but if we're going to be there for a while, I may need to go the budget route. Then again, maybe separate accommodations would be in order, kidnapping or no. You might want to take one of the aforementioned Irish lasses home at some point and I wouldn't want to cramp your style. Unless you wanted to...no, never mind. That's silly. Sorry.

I'll cook for you any time, all you have to do is ask.

I suppose it's back to Mr. Masen and Ms. Swan in the office tomorrow.

Bella  
Willing Kidnapee

* * *

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 10:02 PM  
Subject: Choose (Y)our Own Adventure**

Dear Bella,

I am infinitely relieved that you do not think I'm an ass. I was so worried that our email correspondence would cease that it took me twice as long to get through these spreadsheets; I couldn't concentrate.

(Yes, I really would miss you.)

Perhaps I am not as emotionally developed as I think I am. I suppose you're right – maybe I'm not really looking for someone. It's entirely possible that I'm waiting for the right woman to just show up on my doorstep, which is not a good strategy considering I live in a high-rise apartment building with restricted access. As you know, I like numbers, so I think it bothers me that love is something unquantifiable. How am I supposed to find the woman who, when added to my life, equals love? What follows from my liking for numbers is my liking for formulae, tried and tested equations that always result in the correct answer once the relevant data and constants are plugged in. Love involves so many variables, and the equations are far from set. Ask anyone what they think equals the perfect partner and you get all sorts of inconsistent suggestions. After all these years, I'm still miffed by the fact that people generate the wrong answers to their equations. It seems that the realm of true love may in fact frighten me...I like sure answers and unchanging formulae.

Trust me, I would not allow myself to get stolen. I've never been to Ireland, yet I can tell you I won't go gaga over green eyes for the sake of green eyes. I have green eyes. There's also a reddish tone to my brown hair. It's unlikely I will run away with the likes of someone you have described, anyway, as they'd be judging me on my looks only.

I do like the idea of our own adventure. I'm sure I'd be able to sway Carlisle and increase your vacation time entitlements. As kidnapper, it is strictly my responsibility to provide for the kidnapee's expenses. I suppose we could visit a hostel just to change things up – a true adventure – but, as you have surmised, I am partial to luxury hotels. No, in fact, maybe you should push me out of my comfort zone and insist on the occasional youth hostel or other establishment. I think separate accommodations would be a bit odd considering I'm supposed to be keeping you hostage. I assure you that I will not be taking any lasses home – that is not my style, so there would be nothing to cramp, so to speak. What was the idea you had, but were hesitant to share? I might not think it's silly at all.

You'll cook for me anytime? That is a kind and generous offer.

Ah, yes, it is back to Mr. Masen and Ms. Swan tomorrow. I look forward to your reply.

Edward  
The Green-eyed Executive

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward, Edward Masen  
Date: Sun, June 6, 2010 at 2:18 AM  
Subject: Counting Ceiling Tiles**

Dear Edward/Mr. Masen,

I'm having some trouble sleeping. I don't know if you'll get this before you come to the office in the morning, so I've sent it to both of your email addresses. I hope that's all right. I wouldn't want any awkwardness at the office. I can always delete it from the server if necessary.

You're right, love can't be quantified or described in a formula. Unfortunately, I don't think I've ever been in love so I can't even attempt describe to you what it might feel like. I've certainly liked men in my past, and liked them a great deal. But I like to think that love is something you feel down to your toes. That it's an all-encompassing feeling of completion and joy that's rare and profound when it does happen. Maybe I'm being overly optimistic in my assessment, I don't know. I'm not completely naive, I know love grows and matures and it won't always give me butterflies in my stomach, but I hope once I do find it, that it never wanes or weakens. That through its changes, it only becomes stronger and deeper. I sound like a silly teenager, don't I? I suppose I could blame it on my insomnia and the late hour if ever called upon to explain myself.

I'm sorry for my faux pas in my last email. I meant to say that I'd cook _with_ you any time. Though cooking for you isn't out of the realm of possibility, I suppose. You probably eat out and don't pack a brown bag lunch very often, but maybe I could bring you something for lunch some day. You could eat at your desk so you're not subjected to the company cafeteria. Do you have any favorites?

I've packed my leftovers from tonight's meal and plan on enjoying it again at my desk at around one o'clock tomorrow. That's when the mouth-breather usually goes to lunch, so I'll have some peace and quiet.

My thought was, well...if you wanted, I could pretend to be your sister or something. That way if you saw someone you liked, you could explain me away. But since you say that's not your style, I guess you wouldn't like the idea after all. Besides, it's not like we're really going to Ireland together anyway. I mean, as much as these emails are pleasant and fun (and they are) we've never even met. Though dreaming about dashing off to Ireland with a handsome man is certainly a nice way to pass the time. And might be what's keeping me up, tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning.

I should probably stop the day (late-night?) dreaming and get some sleep. I'm already going to need a coffee IV tomorrow.

Bella/Ms. Swan  
Insomniac

* * *

**Thanks for reading. We'll see you in two weeks.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**And thanks to TwiGirls Next Door and ltlerthqak for rec'ing DMM.**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to SR and Lucette212 for their help with this chapter.**

**Sorry we didn't get to review replies last time around, but please know that we read and appreciate each and every one. The early posting of this chapter is your concession. Please accept our humble apologies and enjoy our gift. We'll try to do better next time.**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan ****  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 7:51 AM**  
**Subject: Morning Roast**

Dear Ms. Swan,

It's 7:45 and I'm already in my office. I wish I had a coffee IV – I had to get up extra early this morning in order to fit in a workout at the gym. Anyway, when I first read your email I read coffee IV as 'coffee four'. Not that I immediately convert all capitalized letters into roman numerals, but I am a numbers person, after all. Maybe we can go IV coffee one day (that sentence makes sense whether you read 'IV' as a verb or simply as 'for'.)

Sorry, sometimes I ramble when I'm jacked up on caffeine and I think I'm being smart when really I'm just being annoying. I actually h8 it when ppl abbreviate 2 get the msg across, so shouldn't abuse roman numerals in that way.

But what I'm really sorry for is that you had trouble sleeping last night. I did not intend for our travel talk to make you anxious in any way. On my end, dreaming about dashing off to Ireland with a lovely brunette is most definitely a nice way to pass the time. I don't think daydreaming is particularly harmful unless you drift off at an inappropriate time – like when you're 'listening' to your crazy neighbor talk about her evil cats and she realizes you're not paying attention, or when you're running on a treadmill set at a high speed setting and there are a lot of people around to see you fall. I certainly don't think we're being deluded. Yes, we haven't met, but I now talk to you more than I talk to people who are actually in my department. Chatting at the watercooler isn't all it's cracked up to be. People usually start conversations with "I've finished that report, Mr. Masen" or "Maybe someone should actually put water in the watercooler, Mr. Masen." (I have not been inflicting budget cuts on water. The guy who delivers the refill bottles is not the most diligent person). My point is, I don't really think of you as a stranger.

And we're bound to meet at some stage. Eventually, it will be IT's turn to be visited by Carlisle on his 'Get to Know Your Employees' schedule. Sometimes I tag along so I can discover areas of wasted expenditure, like the novelty pencil sharpeners that Marketing claimed were a necessary stationary purchase. Of course, I also like to spot areas that require more attention, sensible things like computer upgrades. I promise not to nitpick too much if I ever come down to see you, nor is there any need on your end to act like you're related to me. It isn't _completely _unusual for an executive to acknowledge an employee from a different department. If people ask how you know me, maybe you can pretend that I'm a weirdo who loiters in the dairy aisle at your local D&D.

Since the IT department may not be on Carlisle's roster for awhile, it's probably more than likely that we'll meet some other way. You don't need to cook for me if you don't want to – I won't be offended – but if you ever make chicken pot pie and bring it in for lunch, I may be inclined to mysteriously appear at your desk, just so I can politely ask to have a taste. I swear I wouldn't disrupt your lunch hour too much; I'll appear and disappear. The mouth-breather may even think that I teleported, Star Trek style!

I hope you enjoy your lunch today – I ate leftovers for breakfast. I simply couldn't wait until lunchtime, and besides, I have a board meeting from noon to 2pm.

I look forward to your reply, Ms. Swan. I hope you are not too tired this morning. If anything has woken me up, it was your description of what love should feel like. It has my heart racing in a way that caffeine could never be responsible for. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.

Edward Masen  
Not a Stranger Danger  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 9:15 AM**  
**Subject: Tomorrow is Another Day**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I'm incredibly embarrassed to have sent you that email last night. Please accept my apologies for being so forward and personal. I was feeling tired and overwhelmed and I had a long day. I'm still tired today, but I hope to be more coherent and less like a teenage girl who believes in fairy tales and love at first sight.

I had no idea that Mr. Cullen visited departments throughout the company. Is there some warning so we know when he'll be visiting? Or is it more of a surprise inspection? I'm not worried about being caught doing anything I shouldn't (except maybe emailing you) but I think I mentioned how nervous Mr. Cullen makes me. I still can't believe I trade emails with someone who speaks to him regularly, never mind that I actually work for him. I might pass out if I looked up and saw him in the doorway to our offices down here. It would be like a scene out of _Gone with the Wind_; I would fan my face, sigh, and then faint dead away. Mr. Cullen would yell "She's got the vapors!" followed by the Mouth Breather passing smelling salts under my nose. Then someone would have to loosen my corset so I could breathe properly, and then I'd be sent back to the plantation house so I could rest while the men shook their heads at womenfolk and their delicate natures.

I should tell you, I wasn't suggesting that we pretend to be related here in the workplace. That would be weird and easily exposed as a fabrication. That was more for our pretend vacation/kidnap to Ireland. But since these are all pipe dreams anyway, I suppose the details should be relegated to daydreams. Though not while on moving gym equipment, apparently. Did you really fall down this morning, or was that hyperbole?

I enjoy running myself, though I'm usually in the park across the street from my apartment building every morning. Except today I was too tired and was almost late for work as it was. I rushed in, right on time, and two of my colleagues gave me nasty looks, as if I wasn't early every other morning. It's not bad enough that I eat lunch alone at my desk, now they want to make me uncomfortable during regular working hours too. Sometimes being the New Kid can be difficult. You do silly things like reprimand the CFO of a Fortune 500 company for looking up recipes during business hours. But being the New Kid probably isn't as bad as being a _New Kid on the Block_ who's about to turn twelve. Those voice changes can end the careers of pre-pubescent boy band members quicker than a leaked sex tape.

Could you find some money in the budget so we can hire someone new for IT and they can get off my case? Maybe after you clear the wasteful expenditures like novelty pencil sharpeners and cushioned toilet seats for the Executive washrooms from the budget.

I actually make a mean chicken pot pie, but I'm curious as to why this would be what you requested. Are you a fan of _Swanson_ dinners? You don't seem like the _Hungry Man_ type, but I suspect in many ways you're not necessarily what you appear to be.

I'm curious, does everyone who works for you call you "Mr. Masen?" Am I expected to address all of the executives, including you, that way? I met the CIO briefly when I was hired, but was too nervous to do anything besides nod and blush furiously. Which is what I'll probably do when we finally meet, which I suppose is inevitable, if for no other reason than we work in the same building. I hope you'll forgive me if I want to put that off for as long as possible. I fear you'll be disappointed in me, in more ways than one.

Enjoy your board meeting, if such things can be enjoyed. Is Jasper Whitlock in these meetings? I only ask because maybe he can provide you with some unintentional entertainment if things become tedious.

Isabella Swan  
New Kid  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan ****  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 9:51 AM**  
**Subject: Title Codes**

Dear Ms. Swan,

Please do not feel too embarrassed about the email you sent me. I understand that restlessness and lack of sleep can lead to out-of-character behavior. All of us are prone to the odd moment of unexpected conduct. There was one time when I stayed the night in the office and only got two hours shut-eye. The night janitor found me at 5am – I was bleary-eyed and confused, holding an empty paper cup at the watercooler. I had yet to realize there was no water in the cooler, so I just stood there pressing the tap for a good minute and a half (I really should file a complaint about that delivery guy.)

Carlisle's visits are more of a surprise inspection. He's not trying to catch out lazy employees or unbecoming behavior – what he wants is for everyone to act natural when he comes around. If people know he's on his way, they'll act all stiff and polite. Desks will be suspiciously tidy, people will be overdressed, and paper will be shuffled at an alarming rate. There's one guy who Carlisle calls 'Atlantic City Bob', all because he shuffled his papers quicker than a blackjack dealer shuffles cards. Such a show isn't reflective of how people actually work in the company. So your workmate most likely won't have time to remove his _Hot Women of Sci-Fi_ calendar. That should prove interesting. Or not, depending on who the woman of the month is. Also, I doubt I'll be disappointed when I eventually meet you. I'm willing to bet my cushioned toilet seat on that.

I was indeed engaging in hyperbole when I mentioned the treadmill incident. I hope you were also exaggerating when you mentioned wearing a corset to work. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable down in the dungeon. Now I'm envisioning you as a damsel in distress. Let's see whether your workmates ease up on you. If not, I will have to come to the rescue (not that you can't look after yourself). Perhaps you should start taking names. Donald Trump may have neater hair than me – does he wear a toupee? – but I can fire people with style, too.

You'll have to forgive my ignorance, as I've never seen _Gone with the Wind. _Alarmingly, I am more familiar with NKOTB. Their song titles make for a good set of motivational flash cards for the common executive: _Hangin' Tough, You Got It (The Right Stuff), Step by Step, Face the Music, Didn't I (Blow Your Mind)_. I'm sure I've disturbed you with this notion. Whitlock might be at today's board meeting, but he's only allowed to come when the head of Marketing wants to punish Carlisle for, well, hiring Whitlock. Victoria Redburn, her name is, and she is not afraid to collectively punish us in this way.

I am not the _Hungry Man_ type, no. Chicken pot pie was something my grandmother used to cook for me when I was a child. I have yet to find a restaurant or cafe whose chicken pot pie compares to my late grandmother's version. They might have chicken pot pie in Ireland, right? I did know that the 'sister ruse' was meant for our daydream, by the way, but I wasn't sure whether to directly say it wouldn't be necessary. Sorry if I confused you.

As for people calling me "Mr. Masen", that's actually Carlisle's fault. (I hope you are not hyperventilating at this second mention of him in this email, especially if you _are _wearing a corset.) His secretary sent an email around clarifying that I should not be called Elf in the workplace. Mr. Masen was deemed to be the most respectful title. Rejected titles include: Sir Edward Anthony Masen II, Eddie Boy, and the executive with the NKOTB lunchbox. (Okay, maybe not that last one.)

Edward Masen  
Fan of the New Kid  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 10:20 AM**  
**Subject: Better Dead Than Red**

Mr. Masen,

I read and reread your most recent email several times, and I can't seem to get past the fact that you can apparently recite the names of multiple New Kids on the Block songs from memory. I'm trying really hard not to judge you, but I must admit that I'm finding it difficult. I don't want to ask you for an explanation about your extensive NKOTB knowledge, but I feel that I must. It's highly distressing.

I'm going to assume there's a perfectly reasonable explanation, which I await with some anticipation.

On the one hand, I'm incredibly nervous about Mr. Cullen's possible appearance. On the other, I'm curious to see his reaction to my work mate's calendar. It would almost be worth the anxiety and possible incontinence to see this. I wonder if he knows about these inspections. Are they a secret?

You've never seen_ Gone with the Wind_? I'm in shock. I thought everyone had seen that movie at some point. Isn't it required viewing for, well, everyone? Are you a Communist? Hasn't anyone ever made a joke to you about making a dress from velvet curtains, or yelled about not being able to birth babies? Did you not know what they meant? Did you nod and laugh, pretending to understand? How does one live in polite society without having seen this movie? Ever heard, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."? It's probably only the most famous line of dialogue ever, said in one of the most romantic, heartbreaking stories ever told.

I may or may not have the book on my night table for easy access.

I don't know, Mr. Masen. First New Kids on the Block, then _Gone with the Wind_. Anything else you want to cop to before our relationship goes any further? Do you watch _Gossip Girl_? Hate baseball? Do you eat Domino's pizza and drink Budweiser? Do you make sandwiches with Wonder bread and read dime store romance novels? I think these are things we should get out of the way now.

I hope your board meeting was productive and that you were able to report that the company is in solid financial standing. If I can't work in a kitchen, I'm glad I'm working here, despite the crabbiness of my co-workers. I wouldn't mind you defending me, by the way. While I like to handle most situations on my own, sometimes a girl has to be smart enough to know when to call in reinforcements. This may be one of those times.

Isabella Swan  
Wondering about the CFO  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan ****  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 11:30 AM**  
**Subject: The Upper Crust**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I have a perfectly good explanation for my knowledge of the New Kids' repertoire. From middle school onwards, I received private math tutoring after school on Thursdays. Obviously, this wasn't remedial math, but rather, an advanced curriculum. Wealthy parents are unbelievably paranoid about test scores and future college prospects, and will pay money for pretty much anything. Anyway, in the early years, I was tutored by a young genius enrolled at Columbia. Charlotte used to punish any inattention or wrong answers on my part by blasting her NKOTB mix tape in ten second segments. After awhile, I got desensitized. To this day, I've never heard any of the songs in full. Years later, when I got 790 on my SAT math, I sent her a thank you card. She threatened to stand on the sidewalk on Park Avenue with a boombox, playing_ Let's Try It Again_ until I retook the test and achieved a perfect score. Crazy girl. I wonder what she's up to now...I should Google her (not on company time, of course.)

As for _Gone With The Wind_, one can be familiar with references like "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" without actually having seen the movie. Although, whenever someone jokes about making dresses from curtains, I tend to think it's a reference to_ The Sound of Music_. I've at least seen that film. I find it disheartening that you're starting to think a little less of me – I promise to buy the DVD this weekend in a sign of goodwill. I wouldn't want our relationship to end over this. I assure you that I don't watch _Gossip Girl_ (I hear it perpetuates negative stereotypes of Upper East Siders). And I truly love baseball, but am now afraid of admitting whether I'm a Yankees or a Mets fan, just in case you root for the other team.

Okay, I'm a Yankees fan. It's okay if you root for the other team. As long as you don't _bat _for the other team (you know I don't want you to give up and become a lesbian...there _is _a man out there for you.)

I don't like Domino's pizza, but often quote "You Got 30 Minutes." It's a handy catchphrase. I just used it towards the end of the board meeting – I muttered it under my breath when Victoria threatened to kick Carlisle's ass if he didn't fire Whitlock for "being the shittiest VP ever." I actually meant to insinuate that Carlisle had half an hour to come up with a good explanation, but he took it as me suggesting that he had thirty minutes to listen to Victoria's advice and kick Whitlock's ass out of here. I had to clear that up with him after the meeting; I know he can't fire the guy. His daughter would be most upset.

I apologize for swearing, albeit by way of quote. I am still a gentleman, though maybe not of the Clark Gable standard. As for the inspections, I think people are generally aware that they happen. But since no one is privy to the schedule except for Carlisle himself, it's probably not worth worrying about.

How's IT treating you this afternoon?

Edward Masen  
Your Future Gentleman Caller  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 2:47 PM**  
**Subject: Gossip Girls**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Clark Gable is, indeed, quite a standard to live up to. In the movies, anyway. Did you know in real life he had wooden teeth? Apparently, he had the most awful, stinky breath because of it. It's a wonder his leading ladies didn't scrunch up their noses when he tried to kiss them on screen. Or maybe they did. Perhaps I should Netflix a bunch of his movies for this weekend. I could make it a research project. If nothing else, it will give me something to do.

I have never seen _The Sound of Music_. I have issues with people randomly breaking out into song in their daily lives. I don't enjoy stage musicals either. They literally make me cringe. A friend took me to see _Les Mis_ a few years ago and I got a headache from all the eye rolling I did during the performance. Not to take anything away from the performers, who were quite good. But if I was being chased by the law, I wouldn't stop long enough to sing about it.

Your explanation for your NKOTB knowledge is a little specious. But since you've never given me a reason to doubt you, I will accept what you say at face value. Your tutor's motivation methods seemed to work very well considering that if she was using their music while you were in grade school, you must still be relatively young to be a CFO. Were you some sort of prodigy? I suppose wealth allows for some advantages, such as crazy math tutors, but you can't fake or buy intelligence.

I didn't grow up in New York, but having been here for a few years (with every intention of staying) I can state unequivocally that I am a Mets fan. There's something about rooting for the underdog, and not rooting for a perennial winner, that strikes my fancy. The winning is much more satisfying when it's unexpected.

The IT department has been good to me so far today, despite the headache and scratchy throat I have (probably from lack of sleep). Well, maybe not good, but interesting. Right after lunch, which was delicious by the way, I was sent to the Art Department to fix one of their Macs. And I'm pretty sure that some of the women were talking about you. Your hair seems to be quite the topic of conversation. "Sex Hair" they called it, whatever that means. Is it oddly colored? I thought you told me it was brown, but they were discussing whether you dye it or it's natural, among other things. I didn't join the conversation, as I obviously had nothing to contribute, but you should know one of the women said, "I don't care if he does dye his hair. I'd let him put his huge – " Forget it. It was too crude for me to repeat. But I see now that you have quite the reputation around here. I don't suppose that makes you happy after your previous experience with sexual harassment, but you must know how women around the office talk about you. They did mention that you keep to yourself, though, and that you don't get friendly with people around the office.

Mr. Cullen seems pretty quick to want to fire one of his executives for what seems like a small infraction. Now I'm really, really nervous about his potential visit. What if I have a mouth full of shrimp and pasta when he walks in? Am I even allowed to eat at my desk? I hate that cafeteria so much, though. I wouldn't want to have to eat there. Also, I drink coffee in the morning. What if he comes in and I'm so nervous that I spill it all over my keyboard? That's damaging company property. I'm a nobody. He might fire me on the spot. I think I'm going to be sick.

Isabella Swan  
Underdog  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 4:59 PM**  
**Subject: With Bite**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I find it quite alarming that Clark Gable had wooden teeth. Poor Vivien Leigh, having to kiss someone with halitosis. Perhaps she should have been given the line "Frankly, my dear, I think you need a dental dam." Of course, walking around with a green plastic sheet affixed to one's teeth is not a particularly good look. Maybe a toothpaste/non-toxic wood polish composite would've done the trick.

I'm also astonished that you haven't seen _The Sound of Music_. But I assume you at least recognize song references – my accounting division performed a particularly hilarious version of _My Favorite Things _at the Christmas party last year. I'd offer to sing it to you one day, but you're not a fan of people randomly bursting into song. I'll tell Carlisle not to sing on arrival when he visits the IT department. I wouldn't want you to roll your eyes at him while you're spilling coffee on your keyboard. Ah, I'm only teasing. Please don't be nervous about his potential visit. He wouldn't fire you – Victoria has a history of outbursts and has been testing his patience for quite a while. I did mean it when I said he was a reasonable man. I suppose we all have our limits. Being sworn at during a board meeting is probably the equivalent of sitting through _Les Mis_ for you. I suppose it would've been quite entertaining had Victoria sung about her grievances instead of yelling so much, but the boardroom doesn't really have the acoustics for it. The washroom that may or may not exist would've been better.

I _am _relatively young for a CFO – I'm thirty four. I find the term 'prodigy' irritating as it singles me out as someone unusually gifted. Despite my unfortunate knowledge of NKOTB's greatest hits, I actually think I'm relatively normal. Admittedly, I am a card-carrying member of Mensa, but only so I can literally play the "smart card" on people like Whitlock. I probably don't even need membership anymore; one day, I accidentally pulled out my Starbucks card and Whitlock didn't notice the difference. For all _I _know, he may think every Starbucks location is now a Mensa clubhouse. Other than that, I don't boast about my intelligence. I'm smart enough to know not to do that.

I do indeed keep to myself around here – it's easier to get work done when I'm not in earshot of women talking about my hair or anything of mine that is apparently huge (ego? calculator? 401(k) savings plan?). I can only assume "Sex Hair" is a reference to how tousled and messy my hair looks, but I assure you that no physical activity is required to make it look that way. As for color, I have been told that my hair sometimes looks bronzed or even reddish on some days (I believe I said something along these lines when we discussed Ireland and redheads.) I think such observations about my hair are likely to be hallucinations; my hair isn't like a mood ring. Brown is brown. I'm not sure what you overheard, but I can assure you that I would _never _get involved with these women. Not only am I wary of anyone who defines me by my "Sex Hair", but Cullen, Inc. has a pretty strict non-fraternization policy. After the way I was treated at PwC, I am thankful for such standards. Too bad some people in this company still find it acceptable to gossip about other employees in this manner. Frankly, I wish you hadn't told me about this particular visit to the Art Department.

I hope your headache and sore throat go away. As for the Mets...yes, I suppose there's hope there too. Perhaps.

Edward Masen  
Normal  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 5:01 PM**  
**Subject: Sorry (Again)**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I'm sorry if I've offended you. It wasn't my intention to make you angry. I apologize again. I promise not to bother you anymore.

Isabella Swan

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: Monday, June 7, 2010 at 5:04 PM**  
**Subject: No, I'm Sorry**

Dear Ms. Swan,

Please don't think that you offended me. I'm just a little defensive when it comes to certain matters, is all. I've had to put up with peoples' misconceptions about me for years, whether it be about my intelligence or my success with women. After awhile, I don't even realize I'm being so sensitive. I'm sorry.

You definitely didn't make me angry. The last thing I want is for you to not email me anymore. Please reply – I promise not to be so defensive.

Edward Masen  
Oversensitive  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan ****  
****Date: Wednesday, June 9, 2010 at 1:19 PM**  
**Subject: Really, Really Sorry**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I haven't heard back from you in two days, so I thought I'd send you another email to reiterate what I said in my last email. You didn't make me mad, and I apologize again for being so short with you.

Please let me know if you accept my apology. I already miss our correspondence.

Edward Masen  
Anxious  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan, Bella****  
****Date: Friday, June 11, 2010 at 3:50 PM**  
**Subject: Anxious**

Dear Ms. Swan/Bella,

I'm sending this email to both your work account and your personal account. It's Friday and I haven't heard back from you. I found out that you called in sick on Tuesday, but haven't been heard from since. I hope you'll forgive the intrusion – I asked Human Resources to try and contact you by phone. (Don't worry, I said I was having computer problems and needed specific IT help.) When they couldn't reach you, they allowed me to try and call your cell phone, and you still didn't pick up.

I may be paranoid, but I really am quite worried about you. I charmed the woman in HR into giving me your address (I swear, I only use my charm when necessary.). I will be stopping by at your apartment shortly to check that you are all right. Again, please forgive the intrusion. If you are reading this and I haven't arrived yet, feel free to email me saying you are okay and not in need of any assistance.

Edward Masen  
Very Anxious  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. ****Will Edward make it to Bella's, or will she send an email stopping him? Tune in to Chapter Five to find out!**

**Thanks to the FaceBook group TFFA for rec'ing dmm last week. Much appreciated, ladies.**

**Next update...probably after the holidays. We'll have to see how things pan out. Happy Holidays to all of our readers who celebrate.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to SR for betaing and Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

**We did better with review replies this time around, but we didn't get to everyone. Sorry if we missed you, but please know that each and every review is read and appreciated.**

**So...this is a little different. We sincerely hope you enjoy it. **

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**

* * *

**

**Bella**

I was awake and truly alert for the first time since Monday night, but my whole body ached and I couldn't have gotten out of bed if I wanted to. Which I didn't. I had been in bed for almost four straight days, sleeping on and off in between trips to the bathroom to throw up and bouts of horrible television. I knew I had a high fever; I didn't need a thermometer to tell me that. Which was good, because I didn't have one. I was also out of orange juice, and I really wanted some ginger ale for my queasy stomach. I just didn't have the strength to get up, get dressed, and go to the store. Plus, I was pretty sure I smelled since I hadn't showered in two days and was wearing the same rubber duckie pajamas I put on after my shower. On a positive note, only someone who got really close to me would smell my funk. But there was no chance of that happening. At all.

I stared blankly at the television, mindlessly flipping through terrible daytime television, which seemed to be made up exclusively of soap operas, court shows and Dr. Phil. I had to admit to secretly liking_ Judge Judy_. She was kind of like a scary, mean Grandma who makes you wash her underwear when you visit, but then gives you a cookie after you're finished. You like the outcome, but getting there is terrifying.. Though if I ever had to appear in front of her, I'd probably pee. Just like I almost did in front of Carlisle Cullen. Who was apparently close with Edward.

_Edward._

Boy, did I screw the pooch on that one. He told me that he had issues with sexual harassment and like the idiot I am, I told him what the girls in the Art Department said about him. Him and his sex hair. Which I had yet to see with my own eyes, and now probably never would except maybe from across the room at the company Christmas party. I'd probably spend the night staring at him like a lost puppy, making him uncomfortable. Though from what I've been able to gather, he gets stared at a lot. Well, at least by Stupid Jessica from the Art Department. I think she was actually drooling when she talked about him and his "sexy hands," "beautiful green eyes," and "body made for fucking." I didn't think people actually talked like that outside of romance novels, but that Einstein proved me wrong.

I ran a hand through my dirty hair and groaned out loud at my sheer stupidity. After making a huge mistake and emailing the CFO, _the fucking CFO_ of the company about unauthorized Internet usage, said CFO was actually very nice to me and I, as usual, said something stupid to screw it up. Maybe having only myself for company was a good idea, no matter how annoying I found myself, since I couldn't keep anyone except Rose around for an extended period of time. They were just emails, but I had come to really enjoy our exchanges. He was sweet and interesting and smart and I was a little sad that I had screwed it up so quickly. Though maybe it was better that it happened now, before I became too attached to him. I wasn't even checking my email, sure that the lack of correspondence from him would make me feel worse than I already did.

Trying to distract myself from being sad about Edward, I flipped the channels and settled on another court show. Having only network channels made watching television almost unbearable, but I couldn't afford cable and my only DVD player was in the living room. After my rent, which was fairly reasonable for a one bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan thanks to it being a sub-let, I didn't have any money left over for luxuries like cable and nice clothes and lunches out. So I lived with eleven channels of television (thirteen if you counted the Spanish language channels, which I did. I didn't need to understand the language to appreciate a good telenovella), bought my clothes at Century 21, and brown-bagged it to work every day. It certainly didn't help that these days off were unpaid since I hadn't been at Cullen, Inc. long enough to accrue any sick days. But I had little choice. If I could barely get out of bed, I certainly couldn't work.

_Work._

_Edward._

_I'm such an idiot._

I practically ran out of the office after sending that email on Monday afternoon, tears in my eyes. I was so disappointed in myself and I wasn't feeling well and I just wanted to go home and wallow in my failure. I let myself hope that I was making another friend, which would have been nice. I had Rose, and she was a great, but I already imposed on her so much. Especially on her time with Emmett. They invited me everywhere but I often refused, feeling like a third wheel.

I would have liked someone just for myself, but that never seemed to work out for me. I knew it was partly my fault, as the situation with Edward demonstrated. I was awkward and silly and I often said the wrong thing. I didn't tell Edward, but that was one of the reasons Carlisle Cullen made me so nervous. I was sure to blurt out something stupid in his presence like, "You're really hot for an old guy" or "That suit looks really expensive."

That was one of the reasons being a chef suited me so well. Besides the fact that I loved to cook and feed people, restaurant kitchens are incredibly busy, so I could focus on my cooking and not worry about my social shortcomings, which were legion. The only talking that's necessary is shouting, "Behind you" and "I need that fucking baked potato now!" It's a little known fact that cursing like a sailor in both English and Spanish is a skill required for working in restaurant kitchens. This was where my telenovella watching came in handy.

Speaking of kitchens, I was hungry for the first time since Monday lunch, which was the leftovers of the meal I made with Edward.

_Damn it._

Not wanting to further nauseate myself with my own stink, I grabbed a quick shower, which revived me a little bit and made me feel almost human again. I found a fresh pair of pajamas that were light purple with big red lipstick kisses all over them. If I had a thing for cheeky pajamas, so be it. They were warm and cozy and these were the best kisses I'd had in a while, The Masturbator notwithstanding. He was a decent kisser, but my socks weren't knocked off, though apparently his pants were. What I didn't tell Edward, but Rose and I had a good giggle about, was the reason I didn't notice that he took it out. It was because I wasn't wearing my glasses and didn't have a magnifying glass handy. I swore it was so small he was holding that little peanut between two fingers instead of in his fist. Which might be a partial explanation for him getting off in my hallway. If we had waited and gone to bed together, I might not have been able to stifle my giggle, something the poor man may have experienced in the past. I shivered at the thought of going to bed with him, sure that the nausea I had finally gotten under control would return if I pursued this line of thinking.

Not that I was a size queen or anything, but it certainly didn't hurt. Well, sometimes it did, but not in an unpleasant way. More in the "Wow, can we do that again, and soon?" type of way. But while I had been on my share of dates, it had been a while since my nether regions had been given any attention by anyone other than me. I'm sure any one of my dates would have been happy to lend a hand, so to speak, but I was looking for something more than a quick roll in the hay. I wanted love and companionship and an assured date on holidays. I wanted someone who accepted me for who I was, flaws and all. But sadly, in a city of eight million, I was still without any of that. I was holding out hope though, and unwilling to settle for anything less than what my mom always told me I deserved.

I ran a towel through my wet hair and then slowly made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge, but it was practically bare except for eggs and some old veggies. I found some saltines in the cabinet so I grabbed a row and a glass of water, taking them back to my bedroom and settling on the bed. But after eating a few crackers while watching _Ellen_, a recommendation for becoming a lesbian if there ever was one, I was exhausted. I hadn't had a restful sleep in days; it was interrupted constantly by either strange fevered dreams or constant coughing. Hoping to grab a quick nap, I put everything to the side, snuggled back down in bed, closed my eyes, and thought about Ireland at Christmastime with a handsome traveling companion.

The next thing I knew, I was startled awake by insistent knocking on my apartment door. I stumbled out of the bedroom, still mostly asleep, the words I wanted to yell at Rose for coming over when I specifically asked her not to already forming in my sleep-addled brain. But when I flung the door open, the sight that greeted me was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on my head.

* * *

**Edward**

If you asked a numbers man what his greatest fear was, he'd likely point to a situation where he'd find himself unable to solve an equation. Unsurprisingly, it follows that in my world an unbalanced spreadsheet is like an unbalanced mind; either something is missing or something that _shouldn_'_t_ be there _is _there. It was this mentality that informed my decision to visit Human Resources today – I simply _had _to investigate the fact that Bella hadn't emailed me back.

I'd apologized twice, to no avail, and this had made me increasingly worried that my somewhat defensive email from Monday had truly ruined everything. Yet if I had to calculate the odds of this being the case, I'd be inclined to think that something else was going on. Bella had incorrectly assumed that she'd offended me. But she didn't strike me as the type of person who'd ignore a correction like the one I had provided. After all, we'd been remarkably frank with each other in the course of our correspondence, emails which I had become quite attached to receiving. Like a sum in which someone had forgotten to carry the one, something wasn't adding up. While I was frightened that I had driven her out of the company – either temporarily or permanently – by making her think she'd maligned one of its executives, I was also worried that something even worse had happened. Perhaps an FBI computer geek had hacked into our emails and taken exception to her opinions on sci-fi, and was now planning to brainwash her into a life where success is measured by HP (health points) and how many new swords you were able unlock in any given time period.

_Note to self: Stop watching _The Big Bang Theory.

Driven to solve the mystery, I'd marched down to HR, all the while thinking that I should've been sporting a Sherlock Holmes type outfit, complete with frock coat and ear-flapped traveling cap. I'd ditched the fantasy, however, on realizing I'd probably need to use my hair as a weapon; covering it up with a hat would've done me no good. Moreover, walking into HR with a tobacco pipe would've led to someone reporting me for unauthorized smoking within the building. Carlisle would've insisted that I come to work wearing nicotine patches, which undoubtedly would've led to Whitlock asking me why I was wearing a) hormone replacement patches; b) contraception patches; or c) band-aids for multiple "boo-boos."

I'd turned on the charm, smiling at Ms. Cope and giving her my sob-story about how my computer had been acting up. Within minutes, she'd fallen for it, telling me that Bella had called in sick on Tuesday. She was presumably still sick, as no one in either HR or IT had heard from her since Tuesday. While it was possible that no one in IT could hear _anything _over Mouth Breather's heavy breathing, it was more likely that she was indeed still absent from work.

After unsuccessfully trying to get a hold of Bella at her home number, Ms. Cope had seemingly wanted to leave the matter alone, choosing instead to change the subject. Not to be dissuaded, I'd asked permission to call Bella's cell phone, attributing my anxiety to my fake computer crisis. I'd made it out to be as serious as the Y2K scare (so in effect, Y2K + 10.) After Bella failed to answer her cell, the canned, electronic voice telling me that she wasn't currently available, I'd let my mind wander, imagining horrible scenarios. Maybe she really _had _been kidnapped. Maybe her story would end up being used as a plotline for _Law & Order: SVU_. Or worse, _Gossip Girl_.

In that moment, I'd stopped to think about whether my actions were appropriate. In the grand scheme of things, I hardly knew Bella. Yet while we hadn't necessarily declared ourselves friends, I was at least a colleague. A colleague who was concerned about her welfare. Ms. Cope had tried to reassure me, saying Bella was most likely too ill to answer the phone, but until I knew for sure, I felt like there was _some _onus on me to double-check. Also, with the advent of cell phones, the likelihood of being _completely _unreachable had diminished. If Bella had, say, tripped and knocked her head, thereby getting amnesia and forgetting cell phones existed...well, then I needed to take her to the hospital. A life without cell phones would be an awfully disconnected existence.

Anyway, Ms. Cope had ended up having a coughing fit. Initially, I'd figured it was a ploy to regain my attention, but I'd changed my mind when she produced a huge bag of cough drops. Honestly, the bag was akin to a Costco-type bulk purchase. Either she'd purchased the bag to supply the entire HR department for half a year, or she herself had been diagnosed with a chronic cough. For all I knew, she had SARS and had infected Bella somehow. It was at that point that I'd decided to get out of there – I thanked her graciously before rushing back to my own office. I'd sent an email to both of Bella's accounts, saying that she should email me if she was okay and not in need of any assistance. With no response after half an hour, I'd called for a Town Car to pick me up from the building.

I was now on my way to SoHo.

Time was of the essence, especially if Bella was hurt or in trouble. It was for this reason that I kept looking at my watch; I was quickly losing patience with Manhattan rush hour. For a minute or two, I contemplated getting out of the car and running the rest of the way. Then I remembered I left my gym clothes at the office – I was still wearing my business suit. Running frantically down the street, dressed the way I was, and with a briefcase in hand, was bound to make me look like some sort of white collar criminal on the run from the SEC. Without the briefcase, however, I would probably look like an FBI agent. That appearance might come in handy if I needed to break down Bella's door to get to her. Assuming she was in trouble, of course, and not because I was too rude to knock.

As the minutes ticked by, the traffic eased up a fraction and I again reflected on what I was doing here. I'd taken an interest in Bella, and it was a connection that I refused to give up. Perhaps I was in more need of a new friend than I ever thought. I had friends, of course, but no one I was particularly close with and no real new ones since moving from PwC. In my effort to have a new beginning, I'd seemingly forgotten to make new friends, too. I got along swimmingly with Carlisle, but ultimately he was still my boss – everyone's boss – no matter how good of a friend he was. Besides, he and my father had known each other for so long that he may or may not have seen me running around naked as a child, trying my best to avoid my evening bath. I sometimes wondered if he ever looked at me and still saw that precocious little kid who used to play with Legos while he and my dad discussed their business deals nearby.

I was wary of opening up to anyone at the office, of exchanging anything more than niceties and orders. I kept to myself mostly. When Bella emailed me, reprimanding me for looking up a recipe on company time, I took a chance and shared things with her. Perhaps it was the online nature of the correspondence that made me comfortable enough to do so. Bella had never seen me in person, had never even heard of me. Executive or not, I was a stranger, not a reputation or a story. I liked that.

Finally, we reached Bella's street. With no email from her, I told myself that this was the right thing to do. As strange as it might have been for me to check up on her like this, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try and see if she was okay.

Since I didn't know what I would find, I told the driver to wait nearby and took my briefcase with me as I hurriedly exited the car. Frantic, I rushed over to the front doors of the building and started pressing all the buttons, hoping someone, _anyone_, would buzz me in. If I'd taken a moment to breathe, I would've realized an elderly lady was on her way out of the building. I suddenly felt like an unsupervised child, one that goes around mashing keypads and disrespecting his elders at the Apple Store or somewhere similar. Embarrassed, I waited for the lady to open the door. She eyed me suspiciously. After an awkward moment where she used her walking frame to block my entrance into the building, I realized she was eyeing me _appreciatively_. She was not allowing me to pass – essentially she was a female Gandalf. I flashed her a smile and winked – yes, winked at a pensioner – and soon enough, she was too mesmerized to realize I now had ample room to squeeze past her.

_An elf's got to do what an elf's got to do. _

Energized by my lucky (albeit shameless) entrance, I bounded over to the staircase. Three flights of stairs later, I was in front of Bella's door. I knocked loudly and insistently. If a minute passed by without an answer, I would probably have to act as a one-man SWAT team. Although, come to think of it, it wasn't as if I had a weapon. Removing the W for weapon would make me a one man SAT team, which unfortunately made me sound like some sort of super Princeton Review course.

The only answers I was interested in assessing, however, all related to Bella's well-being. I hoped to God she was all right.

I continued to knock, desperate for someone to come to the door. My hand was still raised when the door suddenly opened – my knocking had drowned out any sound coming from inside the apartment.

I didn't know who was more shocked, me or her. There was a thud, which I assumed was the sound of my briefcase being dropped onto the floor. Either that, or my jaw had literally hit the floor.

"Bella?"

I couldn't believe it. I honestly couldn't believe it.

She wasn't plain at all.

She was beautiful.

* * *

**No, we're not abandoning the email format completely, but we couldn't keep that up forever. We hope you enjoyed this little peek into their minds. **

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	6. Chapter 6

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_**Edward**_

Put quite simply, Bella was stunning.

She'd told me that she was a brunette – she hadn't misled me on that – but when it came to her overall beauty, she had most definitely been far too modest. She was beautiful in the most unpretentious way; a woman who didn't need make-up to look half decent. Her brown eyes looked a little tired, but even then, it was a sign that she was human. I didn't mean that I thought she wasn't human. Rather, it was a reminder that she was a real person, a natural beauty, and not a Park Avenue Princess who got Botox injections twice a week. In her novelty pajamas, which were covered in big red lips, Bella looked like exactly the kind of woman I wanted to date.

I knew, however, that I was getting ahead of myself. While I had met her online, so to speak, I was not here to date her. I was here to check that she was okay and not lying unconscious on her apartment floor.

She was looking at me with alarm. I realized that I still had my fist raised in the air, frozen from when I stopped knocking. I lowered my hand, not wanting to look like some sort of woman beater or hippie who went around yelling "Fight the Power," whatever that meant.

"Who are you?" she asked in a worried tone, wrapping an arm around herself and looking at me suspiciously.

Her voice. So _that's_ what Bella sounded like.

"I'm Edward Masen, CFO of Cullen, Inc." I retrieved my identification card from my pocket, holding it up so she could verify my identity.

Bella's eyes widened as she looked from the badge to my face and back again. She gaped at me for several seconds before nodding her head, her face once again taking on a suspicious look.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Sorry to produce that like an FBI badge," I apologized, stashing the card back in my suit jacket pocket. "I did send an email as a forewarning. You haven't been answering any of my emails, and according to HR, you haven't been at work for four days. I was worried you'd been kidnapped or something. We tried to call you. _We _as in the company. Not the FBI or any other agency that deals with kidnappings."

She stood there, still blinking rapidly and looking at me as if I were a ghost. Or at least some sort of hologram, like in _Star Wars._ Surely someone in IT had educated her on that matter. Either way, she seemed astonished that I had appeared at her door. I waited patiently for her to say something, glancing down to take in the sight of her pajamas. They really were quite comical.

The lips reminded me of the kiss she had with The Masturbator, a kiss apparently so wonderful that he couldn't contain his excitement. It then occurred to me that I was standing in the hallway, in the exact same spot he'd been standing in when said event occurred.

"I don't mean to be intrusive, but can we talk inside?" I suggested. "I've just realized that I'm standing in the same spot that The Masturbator was standing in when he...uh, made a delivery at your door." I paused before continuing. "And that reference alone should prove that I am me and not someone else. So, may I come in?"

"I'm not wearing any underwear," she suddenly declared.

I wasn't one hundred percent sure how to respond, but I did my best to take the comment in stride. To be fair, I had shocked her by coming to see her. She was bound to express that shock in certain ways. I just hoped it wasn't a ploy to get me to leave.

"That's...interesting, but certainly your prerogative in the comfort of your own home," I said calmly. "Should I stand out here while you...put on some undergarments? Or is that going to lead to another man getting too excited?" I quickly shook my head. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate. I'm just nervous that I'm meeting you. I'm also relieved you're not dead or something. I didn't bring any chalk with me, so I wouldn't have been able to draw an outline around your body on the floor anyway. I did tell you in my emails that I tended to ramble when flustered, right?"

"Er, yes...you did say that."

On realizing I had dropped my briefcase on the floor, I bent down and picked it up. "I dropped that. I'm not picking it up because there are forensic tools in there or something. I can see you're not dead."

"Oh, um...no, I'm not dead," she responded. "Come in. I'm sorry."

Bella held the door open and stood to the side so I could come in. She then closed the door and leaned back against it.

"I'm just surprised to see you," she added, brushing past me. "I've been sick. And I thought...well, never mind. I didn't get your emails, sorry. I've been too busy throwing up and watching Spanish soap operas. Throwing up because I'm sick, not because I've been watching telenovellas."

I nodded, following her into the living room. It was very simply furnished with a couch, arm chair, television, and bookcase. She had a modest home compared to mine, but it wasn't wholly uncomfortable. You could tell someone lived here; there were well-read books in the bookcase, bread crumbs and a blanket on the far end of the couch, framed pictures on the walls and surfaces, and what looked to be a coffee stain on the floor. A lot of my neighbors had apartments that were so clean and sterile that visiting them was like stepping into a clinic of some sort. At least with Bella, I felt like a colleague – albeit an intrusive one – and not a patient. Some of my neighbors only invited me around when they were hosting fundraisers, so it was an added bonus that I wasn't being slapped with a bill for showing up.

I nodded at the small TV, which wasn't switched on at present. "Well, telenovellas are probably a step-up from some of the other stuff on daytime television. Even Rachael Ray has a talk show, I hear."

"I hope she talks better than she cooks or it won't last long."

"Yes, I agree." I sat down in the arm chair, ignoring the fact that the upholstery was a little frayed. "Is Judge Judy still on these days? An attorney friend of mine gave me her autobiography for Christmas. It's titled _Don't Pee On My Leg And Tell Me It's Raining._ Um, which I hope is not the reaction Carlisle has to you if you ever bump into him."

I was trying to lighten things up with a bit of humor. Hopefully I wasn't making her even more nervous. Bringing up the need to pee probably wasn't helping the awkwardness.

Sure enough, she perched herself on the edge of the couch, blushing at the Carlisle reference.

"Really? Is Judge Judy a television personality?" she asked innocently. "Never heard of her."

"Oh, maybe she's a bit outdated now." I cleared my throat. "So...you've been sick? I mean, I now know that. I was wondering if you were okay or you know, infected with the Ebola virus."

"Um, yeah, I'm sick. Not with Ebola, though. Should I have told you I wouldn't be at work? I didn't mean to worry you. But you're the CFO, I didn't think you'd be interested in someone from IT being out sick."

"Well, I'm not inclined to care if, say, Mouth Breather is sick. I was worried about you because you didn't answer my emails. I apologized several times for being so defensive. I wasn't mad at you."

"Oh, I thought you were," she explained, biting her thumbnail. "I say stupid things sometimes so I wouldn't have been surprised. I haven't checked my email since Monday. I didn't want to throw up on the keyboard and have to buy a new one."

I nodded. "Yes, I suppose vomit would be rather corrosive if certain acids were involved." I paused before continuing. "Um...so, I was really worried about you. And I got your address from HR so I could come here and check that you were okay." I looked around again, scrambling to say something that would diffuse the awkwardness. "Nice apartment."

"Not really, but thanks." She stood up. "Can I offer you something to drink? I have to warn you, if I touch a glass it will be crawling with the virulent disease I'm infected with. I can show you where they are, though."

She gestured toward the kitchen, so I got up and followed her.

"I've had my influenza vaccinations for the season," I told her, trying to show I wasn't worried about touching things she had touched.

I hoped I was coming across as sincere. The Edward I had presented in my emails was indeed the real me, and I wanted to reiterate that I had never been angry with her. It also bothered me, however, that she spoke of herself like she was a lowly minion. I knew I was the CFO, and therefore somewhat removed from the day to day operations of non-finance related departments, but I wasn't like that King in the _Sing a Song a Sixpence_ nursery rhyme who stayed in the counting house counting all the money. It would upset me if Bella thought she wasn't worthy of being at least my email buddy.

Bella probably didn't approve of that nursery rhyme. Most chefs would not be okay with baking four and twenty blackbirds in a pie. Such a recipe would probably require a lot of seasoning.

Anyway, she led me to the cabinet, pointing so I would know where to get a glass from. When I reached over her, she whispered, "Thank you for coming to check on me."

I was touched that she appreciated my presence and the fact I was concerned about her well-being. She still seemed somewhat embarrassed by my attention, but the soft voice in which she spoke almost broke my heart. I wondered how many people she knew in New York and whether anyone in IT had missed her presence. I had definitely missed her correspondence over the last several days. How could anyone not notice this woman? She wasn't "vanilla" in the sense that she had ascribed to, at all. I'd only "known" her a little while, yet I had already recognized that she'd injected a bit more humor and interaction into my life.

Forget Botox injections and creating the appearance of less frown lines. Why not actually be a little happier?

I smiled at her. "You're welcome, Bella."

She blushed a little, but not as much as when I noticed that there was one particular glass that stood out from the rest. Me being me, I simply had to select that one. It was a Mayor McCheese glass, the collectible kind that McDonald's used to offer with certain meal deals for a limited time only. The Mayor had a cheeseburger for a head. I couldn't not pick him.

"Ah, I'll take this one," I said jovially. "I've always been amused with how this guy manages to stay balanced when he walks. I know many people with big heads, but not like this."

"I'm sure the pickles and ketchup are evenly distributed so as to lessen the tilt factor," Bella quipped, seemingly happy that I wasn't making fun of her for owning this particular piece of drinkware.

"Maybe the pickles should be on the side, like in his pocket," I mused. "He must get awful neck pain."

Bella laughed, and I was happy that I could return some of the joy she'd brought into my life.

"Maybe they have special chiropractors for fast food characters. If he and Hamburglar go together I bet they get a discount," she joked.

"Yes, well, Hamburglar would steal the Mayor's head, thereby eliminating the neck and back pain altogether. The Mayor would just be dead."

"That's okay, I think Grimace was the one wielding power behind the scenes anyway."

I nodded. "Never trust the amorphous purple guy."

"That, and never trust a man with a pinkie ring. Rules to live by."

"Duly noted. I'll add it to the _Charter of How To Deal with Fast Food Mascots. _It's like the Ten Commandments, but it comes with fries on the side_,_" I said, smiling at her. She returned my smile and after an awkward pause I held the glass up. "So, what's in your fridge?"

"Oh, right. Sorry," Bella said, stepping over to the fridge and opening it. From where I was standing behind her, I could see that the shelves were mostly bare. Bella closed the door quickly and turned to me.

"How about tap water?" she suggested.

"Yeah, sure," I said distractedly, alarmed by the emptiness of her fridge. "Um, are you sure you're a chef? I didn't see much food in there. In fact, with the condiments, onions, tomato and cheese, I'm inclined to think you were planning to eat Mayor McCheese this evening."

"I haven't eaten anything in quite a while, if you must know. Big-headed politicians included," she explained.

I frowned as I filled the glass with water from the sink. "You haven't felt well enough to eat? Or you've been too ill to go to the grocery store?"

"I wasn't able to keep anything down before a few hours ago, and I really haven't felt like going out. I'm kind of comfy here in my pj's," she said softly, handing me the glass.

"I can run out and buy some things for you," I offered, not really phrasing it as a question.

"You don't have to do that." She looked embarrassed. "I can go tomorrow or the next day."

"No, I insist. I _did _invite myself over so I might as well do something useful for you. I finally have an excuse to visit your local D&D. The Mayor will live another day." I drank some water before continuing. "Do you also need me to go to the drug store?"

"I really can't ask you to do that," she said, hesitating and looking down. I assumed she was feeling awkward because I wanted to do something so nice for her. "Really, I'll be fine."

"I'm not taking no for an answer, unfortunately," I said kindly. "I have a bigger head than you think. The hair is just a distraction. I, uh...I really want to do this for you."

I hesitated because I wasn't sure if I was saying too much, and not because I wasn't sure if I wanted to help her.

Bella smiled tentatively at me. "I was really hoping for some ginger ale. Would you mind getting me some? I have eggs and crackers if I get hungry, but I'm kind of thirsty and I think the warm tap water is hindering the healing process."

"Ginger ale, got it." I intended to buy more than ginger ale, but I knew that if I mentioned that fact, she'd surely protest. "Anything from the drug store?"

"Maybe some cough medicine, if you don't mind. I've been having trouble sleeping. Here, let me grab you some money."

She strolled across the living room to her purse.

"No, no, it's on me," I said, waving my hand. "Let the Gentleman Caller buy you a few things."

"I can't let you do that. I don't even know you," she implored.

She handed me a twenty dollar bill. I relented and accepted it, intending to slip it back to her later. Every good CFO knows how an under-the-table transaction works, as sketchy as that might sound. Bella would be fully refunded. If she wasn't entitled to much vacation leave, then I was worried she didn't have much sick leave, if any. This wasn't to say I pitied her and wanted to treat her as a charitable cause. I wasn't going to call George Clooney and organize a telethon or anything like that. I just wanted to take care of her.

I smiled graciously at her. "We're not complete strangers, though, you have to admit."

Thankfully, she smiled back at me. "I always say too much. Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I like learning about you. I'll be back soon."

* * *

_**Bella **_

I about fell over when Edward walked out of my apartment, not realizing how tense I had been until he was gone.

I took a few deep breaths to get myself under control, but that just sent me into a coughing fit of epic proportions. Once it stopped producing disgusting amounts of phlegm, I sat heavily on the couch, wondering at this alarming but not unwelcome turn of events.

Sweet Mercy, but he was good looking. I didn't think men that beautiful existed in real life. And that smile. It had more of an effect on my nether regions than a kiss from The Masturbator. Though obviously The Masturbator had a much different view of our interaction.

I needed to get a grip, though. Edward had very sweetly come here to check to make sure I wasn't dead, and amazingly, was out getting me cough syrup and ginger ale. We wouldn't be spending any time rolling around in my bed, though I idly wondered if maybe his tongue had magical healing properties. And how I could extract said properties. Often.

Thinking about Edward's tongue made me think about my own, and I was suddenly horrified that I had been sleeping when he arrived, but hadn't brushed my teeth yet. How had I been that close to him with breath like this? I searched my memory but didn't recall him recoiling in disgust at any point, so maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Still, I ran to the bathroom and gave my teeth a thorough brushing before looking in the mirror and taking in my appearance.

I groaned, my stomach twisting in knots, and not from whatever disease was working its way through my body. I slept with my hair wet, so it was a tangled mess, I was deathly pale except for the huge dark circles under my eyes, and my nose was so red I could star in a stage production of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Which I did, in third grade. I was Snowflake number two. Nope, not even Snowflake number one. Number two.

Story of my life.

I thought about freshening up, but really, what was the use? I still wasn't feeling particularly well and it wasn't like he was here to sweep me off my feet. He was just being kind by coming to check on me. Like a charity case. Or maybe he hadn't left his last job due to sexual harassment at all. Maybe be misappropriated some funds and now had to perform court-ordered community service as part of his sentence. I wondered if Mr. Cullen knew who he hired and if perhaps I should send an anonymous note. I always wanted to be a whistle-blower. Maybe I could appear before Congress and plead the Fifth. Just like Anita Hill made Coke safe from pubic hair for women the world over, I would save Carlisle Cullen from the clutches of Edward Masen.

Though Clarence Thomas was on the Supreme Court, so I had little hope that my Congressional hearings would yield any justice. Besides, the thought of Mr. Cullen in Edward's clutches, so to speak, wasn't a complete turn off.

I splashed some cold water on my face, popped a couple of Advil and decided that I would keep my pajamas on, but thought some underwear might be in order. I sighed when I realized I had blurted that out to him while he was standing in my hallway. For some reason my remark didn't send him running for the hills; he must have really needed the community service hours. I wasn't sure that being around me was preferable to picking up trash on the side of the road, but I was glad he seemed to think it was.

I bypassed my lacy undergarments and decided on simple cotton. I wanted to be comfortable and no one else would be seeing it.

After I changed I straightened up the apartment a little bit, folding the blanket that was on the couch and sweeping up some crumbs from under the coffee table, then sat nervously waiting for him to come back. He'd been gone a while and I wondered what was taking him so long. It was just ginger ale and cough syrup. Though I knew uptown folk sometimes got lost down here in lower Manhattan since it wasn't a simple grid pattern like it was uptown.

When Edward rang the buzzer to be let back in, my stomach jumped. I told myself to stop it. He was incredibly good-looking, smart, powerful, rich, and completely out of my league.

Despite my earlier admonishments, when he knocked on my apartment door, butterflies started fluttering. I opened the door and there he was, holding up a CVS bag, a smile on his face.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked, stepping inside my apartment.

"I plead the Fifth!" I exclaimed.

"Um, okay," he said, smiling slightly, his eyes shining in amusement. "Here you go, one bottle of ginger ale and one bottle of cough syrup. Be sure to drink the ale and not the syrup, otherwise I'll have to come back to get your stomach pumped."

I smiled back and took the bag, eager for the ginger ale and grateful that he had taken the trouble to go out for me, even if he was a corporate criminal. "And we wouldn't want you to have to come back, now would we?"

He came in and sat on the armchair while I opened the bottle of ginger ale, taking a long sip.

"I'll probably declare myself by email and just show up again," he said, laughing. "I'm crafty like that."

"I bet you are," I replied, smiling shyly. "Thanks for going out for me."

"No problem at all," he said.

"Did you get lost?" I asked, sitting across from him on the couch. "You were gone for a long time."

"Well, downtown _is _confusing. But no. There was a long line at CVS. Apparently, they were having a sale on cosmetics. I would've bought you a lipstick or two but I didn't want anyone in the store thinking it was for me."

"I can see why they would think that, what with that hair color. Is it real?" I blurted out. I mentally kicked myself, decrying my lack of a filter. Why didn't I ever thing about things before I said them? I was no better than stupid Jessica from the Art Department.

But surprisingly, he didn't scowl or run away. He laughed. "Oh, see, the real reason I took so long is because I spent an inordinate amount of time perusing all the do-it-yourself hair dyes...just to see why everyone thinks I dye my hair."

"Sorry. It's just that it _is_ an odd color. Like a penny. Which is fitting, what with you being a CFO," I said with mock seriousness.

"Yes, and see, with my _green _eyes, I've covered the spectrum of currency. The new twenty dollar bill is a little festive, so I'm going to pretend it's not peach. I wonder how much more successful I'd be if I dyed my hair green."

"If you weren't so pale you could use your skin for the peach. Then all of your bases would be covered. Color wise, that is."

"Me? Pale?" he asked innocently. "No, that's just me trying out this new 'Vanilla' make-up. Apparently it's very popular. "

"Like Vanilla, do you?" I asked, smiling at our joke. It was still so surreal that he was sitting here in my apartment, chatting with me as if we had known each other for years instead of days.

"It's okay so far."

I opened my mouth to respond but closed it quickly when my doorbell buzzed. I knit my eyebrows together and looked at Edward, but he just shrugged his shoulders and got up, buzzing in my visitor without asking who it was.

"You could have just let an axe murderer into my building! Why didn't you ask who it was?" I cried, following him into the foyer.

"I'm very trusting. And fond of pressing buttons. It's like I have OCD sometimes." The knowing smirk on his face led me to believe there was more going on here than met the eye, but I couldn't fathom what was going on. I had a man I barely knew in my apartment and he could really be planning to kidnap me. In my lipstick kiss pajamas. While I had the flu.

That wouldn't be good. At all. I wasn't exactly nervous, since I didn't get "menacing" from him at all, but my guard was suddenly up.

"I bet you like pressing buttons," I said, trying to keep the conversation moving, lest he get bored and decide to chop me to bits. "Has that been what's gotten you where you are at your age?"

"Just one button: fast forward. I have no patience for climbing ladders. It's a slow task when you're wearing an expensive suit." He was smiling, a good sign that he might not try to murder me any time soon.

"Climbing a ladder is worse when you're wearing a skirt. Everyone can see what you have on underneath," I said, wondering at my stupidity. I was alone with a man who may or may not want to kill me and I was mentioning what was under my skirt. 

_Brilliant, Bella._

There were three quick raps on my apartment door and before I could scream, "Don't let the axe murderer in!" Edward reached over and opened the door.

"If he kills me, avenge my death!" he exclaimed.

Then, bizarrely, he ushered in four men who were carrying bags and boxes with Dean & DeLuca written on them. I stood there and watched as Edward told them to bring everything into the kitchen, and then stood idly by as he handed them money and saw them out, thanking them for delivering his order.

I stepped into the kitchen and surveyed what had been delivered, still a little too confused to make heads or tails of what just happened.

"Are you planning on staying?" I asked sarcastically, turning around to find Edward standing behind me, a huge smile on his face.

"I thought I'd pick up a few extra things for you. And by pick up, I mean delivered."

"Huh?" I asked brilliantly.

"Well, I was already out and about, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to stock up your fridge."

I blinked a few times, trying to process what he was telling me. My idiot brain finally caught up with what was going on and I put three and seven together. Edward saw my empty fridge and went out to buy me food. Like I was some sort of charity case.

"I can afford to buy my own food, you know," I said angrily. "This wasn't necessary."

His smile faltered and I immediately felt my stomach twist up at making him unhappy. He had such a nice smile. "I'm sorry, it's not that I don't appreciate the thought. But I can't afford all of this and it's too much."

"I really wanted to do this for you. I realize you can afford your own groceries but you're too ill to go out and you should have food in the house." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and looked down. "I'm sorry I was so presumptuous. I didn't like the thought of you being here alone with nothing to eat and only tap water to drink."

Damn it, he looked so sincere and sweet I just wanted to wrap him in a huge hug and say thank you. But I restrained myself, mostly because I was crawling with nasty germs and a mouth that beautiful shouldn't vomit. And also, it would have been weird.

"Thank you," I said softly, looking down, not trusting myself to look directly at him. Kind of like how it was dangerous to look directly into a solar eclipse.

"You're more than welcome," he said just as quietly. I felt my heart begin to hammer in my chest, this moment between us a little too much for me to handle. I looked up to see him gazing at me with an indiscernible expression on his face, almost like confusion mixed with curiosity.

"Why don't you help me unpack this mess since it's your fault it's crapping up my pristine kitchen," I said too loudly, trying to break the tension.

He smiled at me, the spell broken, for which I was grateful. Maybe.

We unpacked in silence, moving around my small kitchen with a practiced ease that astonished me. But no more than the sheer volume of groceries that he bought me; kobe beef hot dogs, lobster mac and cheese, prepared soups, cheeses, butter, eggs, condiments, wine, tea and so much more. It was ridiculous and completely overboard.

"Rack of lamb, Edward? You must know that I couldn't possibly eat this all by myself."

"Uh, well...you could bring it to work for lunch. Maybe share with the Mouth Breather to curry his favor."

"The last thing I want to curry is his favor. Though I could curry some of the eighteen pounds of chicken you bought me," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I like curry," he mumbled under his breath.

"Why, Mr. Masen, if I didn't know any better I would think you bought all this food so I would cook for you."

"Actually, I just really needed to use my AmEx. It hasn't been used in a few days and if I don't give it a workout, it tends to get fat and lazy."

I chuckled and then grabbed onto the counter, suddenly very dizzy.

"Whoa," he said, reaching out his hand but not touching me. "You all right?"

"Yeah, it's just I'm still not feeling well and I should probably sit down," I said, walking over to the couch and sitting down. "I haven't seen this much activity for a few days."

Edward followed me and knelt in front of me, his face so blatantly concerned that it almost brought tears to my eyes. Why did he care so much?

"I'll just finish putting the groceries away so they don't spoil and then I'll leave so you can get some rest."

"Oh," I said quietly, knowing I needed my rest, but still disappointed that he was leaving. I liked being around him. It was comfortable and effortless, like we were old friends.

"Unless..." he began, looking anxious. "Maybe I could make you something to eat? I'm no chef, but I can heat up chicken soup." He looked at me with these big green eyes, so eager to do something nice for me, as if buying me enough food to feed a small country wasn't enough.

"I'd like that," I said, smiling to try to put him at ease. "I'm just going to lay down here for a minute." I pulled the blanket up from the end of the couch and laid down, absolutely exhausted.

"I'll let you know when your soup is ready," he said, getting up and walking to the kitchen.

It wasn't every day a corporate criminal made me chicken soup. I should let his parole officer know he was doing a good job.

"This is kind of cool," I said. "The feminist in me loves when I get to lounge while a man serves me."

The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was Edward's soft laughter coming from my kitchen.

* * *

**Much gratitude to SR for doing a bang-up beta job, and to Lucette212 for pre-reading.  
**  
**Thanks to the fine folks at PIC FF Corner for their rec of DMM, and to everyone who continues to read and review.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	7. Chapter 7

**Wow, so we absolutely suck at review replies. We really will try to get better. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy the latest installment of **_**Maria la del Barrio.**_

**Thanks to SR for betaing and Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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I woke up too warm and a little confused. I thought I felt a hand on my forehead, but that would have been impossible, so I tried to fall back to sleep, wanting my dream of soft, cool hands to come back.

But the smell that was assaulting my nose made my stomach grumble and tore me from my dream.

What smelled so good, and who was saying my name?

Alarmed, I opened my eyes and sat up, only to be greeted by a very handsome, very concerned face.

Oh, right.

_Edward. _

Not just Edward, but Edward without his jacket and tie, and the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, his white undershirt poking through the top. This man could make a plain white t-shirt arousing. Tearing my eyes away, I cleared my throat and looked around quickly, noting it seemed much darker than when I came into the living room to lie down.

"How long have I been sleeping?" I asked, my head feeling like lead.

"A couple of hours."

"Wow, that long?" I said, a blush creeping up my cheeks that had nothing to do with my fever, which seemed to have broken while I was sleeping.

"Yeah, don't worry, though. I spent my time reading your diary and going through your underwear drawer. Then I watched you sleep like a creepy stalker."

"Sorry I don't have cable or you could have watched porn while you were at it," I mused.

"You don't have cable?" he asked, looking more than a little bit surprised.

"Nope. Unnecessary expenditure, CFO." I didn't want to talk about what I lacked when he obviously had so much. "So what smells good?"

"Oh," he said, seemingly thrown off by my abrupt change in subject. "I just heated up some soup and cut up some cheese and fruit. Nothing too complicated. I've never cooked for a chef before and I don't mind admitting that I was intimidated. This way D&D can take the heat if it's substandard."

"I'm sure it's fine," I said, untangling myself from the blanket and throwing it to the other side of the couch. My pajamas were rumpled and I probably looked truly frightening, but it was a little late to care at this point. He was seeing me at my absolute worst and was still here. Which just solidified the fact that he wasn't interested in me romantically.

I stood and stretched, my body tight from my nap and the cramped couch. I looked over at Edward and he was staring intensely where my shirt was riding up. I lowered my arms and pulled my shirt down and Edward developed the cutest pink tinge on his cheeks at being caught.

He mumbled an apology and something about putting out the soup, so I headed to the bathroom to freshen up and get my bearings.

As I splashed cool water on my face, I thought it was pretty clear that despite my earlier suspicions, Edward wouldn't chop me to pieces and scatter the bits through New Jersey. What I didn't know, however, was why he was still here. I could chalk up his initial appearance to concern for a co-worker and him buying me groceries to his community service. His continued interest, though, I had no explanation for. Maybe he was some sort of do-gooder superhero who went around rescuing damsels in distress. If the distress was due to having the flu and an empty refrigerator.

When I came out of the bathroom, Edward was setting up a meal on my little dining table. There was hot chicken soup, cheese, french bread and sliced fruit. It was perfect and sweet and I once again questioned what the hell this man was doing here and why he was being so wonderful to me. Surely a few emails didn't warrant this.

"Bella?"

"Huh?" I asked, master of the English language that I was.

"Did you want to eat standing up?"

"Oh, no. Sorry," I said, taking a seat and picking up my spoon. As I took my first bite, I noticed an open laptop and papers scattered around my armchair. "Were you trying to fit some work in between the snooping and the staring?"

"That might look like Cullen, Inc. work, but that's actually a well-devised and almost flawless plan for world domination," he announced. His face was serious, but his eyes danced with mirth.

"Really? Can I have Australia? It was always a dream of mine to be a dictator by the time I was twenty-five. I'm a year late, but as they say, but better late than never. Plus, I like the warm weather." I was feeling better already – Edward's company and the soup warming me was giving me an odd sense of contentment. Comfort food, indeed.

"Hold on," he said, dipping his spoon into his soup. "I'm still in the planning stages. There would be many people standing in the way of you running Australia: Rupert Murdoch, Nicole Kidman, Hugh Jackman. Not to mention that elderly woman with the walker who almost didn't let me into your building. She would block you on the way out."

"You must mean Tanya. I'll take her out, don't worry. She broke her hip last year and will be a pushover. As for the rest, any good ruler of the world will have an effective military, so I expect you to overrun Australia in a matter of hours. Though Rupert Murdoch will probably survive. Like a cockroach."

"I'll add that to my master plan, but now that I've let you in on it, you have to keep this all secret. If you tell anyone, I'll have to give you a different island instead. Something small and cute, like Hawaii, or Shutter Island. Unfortunately, I think Atlantis is still underwater."

"Deal. I'll keep Australia, you can keep Rupert Murdoch."

He laughed and smiled a smile that made me want to throw him down on the nearest surface and have my way with him, but I refrained. Mostly because thanks to this flu, I had the strength of a newborn kitten. Also, it would have been weird.

"Thank you for making dinner," I said instead.

"You're welcome," he replied softly, something in his face changing. He looked almost sad, though I couldn't fathom why. Did heating up soup dredge up some awful childhood memory? Maybe he grew up on a farm and he had to watch his favorite chicken become dinner. I made a mental note to ask him where he grew up and if he found himself emotionally attached to any poultry. That would have been a good thing to ask at that moment, but my mind and my mouth didn't always communicate properly.

"It's Friday night, shouldn't you be out somewhere dropping panties with that smile?" I asked instead.

"I only drop panties on Saturdays. Besides, from what I recall, you weren't even wearing underwear when I got here," he said in a voice that made my skin flush and my stomach flutter nervously. I swallowed loudly and grabbed a cube of cheese, trying to hide the effect he had on me and my hormones. It was a good thing the table was small and laden with food because throwing him across it was becoming a more appealing option every minute.

I finished my cheese and took sip of ginger ale before responding. Thinking about what I said before I said it seemed like a good idea with Edward. "I changed while you were gone. I was too sick to care about the pajamas, but underwear is a must when a virtual stranger, who may or may not be a corporate criminal, drops in unannounced."

"Corporate criminal?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not actually planning to take over the world, you know."

"Sorry, I convinced myself that you were being nice to me because it would count towards some kind of community service, and that you stayed while I slept because you were a superhero," I explained. He seemed to handle my brand of crazy well up until this point, so I figured I'd just keep going.

"I hope you don't mind that I stayed while you were sleeping," he said, his eyes wide in embarrassment. His next words came quickly as he looked down at the last of his soup. "I wasn't sure how long you'd rest for. This soup is better if served on the same day."

"I don't really mind," I said. "This is nice."

"Oh, okay. Good," he replied, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you're going to run Australia for me, I need you to keep your strength up. Those koalas can be cranky. Though I have no idea why. I mean, they sleep all day, live in a tree, and eat leaves. What's their problem anyway?"

"Koalas are such jerks," I lamented, shaking my head.

"You know, koalas eat eucalyptus leaves. I hear eucalyptus oil can help relieve colds and influenza," he said pointedly.

"Really? I'm surprised you didn't buy some for me while you were out, considering you bought me every conceivable thing I could need for the next six months. Disappointing, Edward. Very disappointing."

He threw his head back and laughed, much to my delight. Hearing him laugh, knowing that I caused him such happiness, made my stomach feel funny, and not in a wholly unpleasant way.

"So really," I said seriously after his laughter died down. "You don't have anything better to do on a Friday night than babysit me?"

"Babysitting would count as a second income, and I already get taxed enough. But if you pay me ten dollars an hour under the table, I won't tell anyone," he quipped, a small smile on his face. When I didn't return it, but sat there nervously biting my thumbnail, his smile faltered and when he spoke, his voice was soft. "I'm perfectly happy where I am. You're a pleasure to be with."

I searched his face for signs of humor or sarcasm, but all I found was complete sincerity. And not for the first time that day, tears pricked the backs of my eyes and my throat got tight as I wondered why he cared so much about me.

I cleared my throat quickly and dropped my gaze. "So, now that I have you, how about a movie? I don't have cable, and my DVD collection is small, but it packs a punch."

As the seconds stretched by and he didn't answer, my heartbeat and my breathing quickened as I waited for the impact of rejection. I should have known better than to put myself out there, even if it was just for a friendship. There was a reason Rose was my only friend.

Just as I was about to get up and remove myself from this uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing situation, Edward's soft voice drifted over to me. "Despite your insistence on the matter, I have yet to see _Gone with the Wind_. I can run to the video store if you'd like."

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes, my relief profound. "No need to go out," I explained, finding my smile. "I have a copy. It's the full version, complete with fainting and smelling salts."

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You seem a little flushed."

"I'm fine," I assured him, my heartbeat slowing and my breathing evening out. I felt a little pathetic at being so upset by the potential loss of someone I'd just met, but I found that I really liked his company and was more comfortable with him than anyone I'd met in a really long time. I wasn't ready to give that up quite yet.

"If you say so," he said, looking at me skeptically. "Why don't you go set up the movie? I'll clean up and join you in a minute."

"I can help," I insisted.

"Go!" he exclaimed, pointing to the living room. "You need your rest."

"Yes, sir," I said, saluting him before heading toward the living room.

"That's _yes, sir, Mr. Masen_, to you," he jokingly corrected as he turned toward the kitchen.

I giggled, shaking my head and grabbing my well-used _Gone with the Wind_ DVD. This was turning out to be the best night at home I'd had in a long while.

We were settled on opposite ends of the couch ten minutes later as the opening credits started to roll. "So I don't know much about this movie. Is it a, er, romantic film?"

"Well, that's relative, I suppose," I said. "There _is_ romance, but there's also war, amputations and childbirth without anesthesia, drinking, bitch slapping, and one human being owning another. Good stuff."

"Sounds like a day at the office. Except for the romance, of course. That's not allowed."

"Is it really not allowed? I mean, could people get fired for having an office romance?" I asked cautiously, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.

"Oh, yes, definitely. Carlisle is pretty strict on the issue. Just between you and me, the company has been sued before. People in love go out of their way to help each other, you know? Sometimes it's at the expense of the company. And expenses are my jurisdiction, I suppose."

"Oh, I see. How about office friendships? Are those allowed?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

"Of course," he said, looking at me and smiling gently, a twinkle in his eye.

"Good," I whispered before turning back to the television. Despite my comfort with him, exchanges like that one completely unnerved me and I needed the distraction.

"Oh, the credits are first," Edward remarked as the movie began. "Old Hollywood was clever – this way no one walked out of the theater when everyone was being acknowledged."

"I'm sure Frank Faylen's mother was very proud of the work he did as 'Soldier Aiding Doctor Meade'," I reasoned, quickly scanning the credits, grateful that we were back to a lighter mood. "He deserves just as much credit as Clark Gable."

"Yes, everyone in a production counts. Cullen, Inc. wouldn't survive with just the executives. We'd hurt each other, thus requiring Doctor Meade and his soldier aide."

"See, even the lowly minions in IT keep the wheels of a multi-national corporation running. All of a sudden, I feel very significant," I said happily.

"Of course you're important. See, now Doctor Meade won't be required. Although he's probably either really old or dead now. Like a zombie doctor."

"He looks ancient in the movie and it was filmed in nineteen thirty-nine, so yeah, dead or zombie, no doubt." Right then, the peppy music began and Mammy started yelling at Scarlett to wear her shawl, indicating the start of the movie.

We sat watching in silence for a while as Scarlett whored around Tara and Twelve Oaks, flirting with any man who had a pulse.

"Um, she's not named Scarlett because she's going to be branded with a scarlet letter for being promiscuous, is she? Or because she's going to set up a red light district?" Edward asked.

"She is a bit of a hussy," I explained. "But it's all talk. She's as pure as the driven snow under her corset. For now."

"For now? Interesting..."

"Not really," I clarified. "It's all implied. You don't actually get to see any of the action. But poor Scarlett never actually enjoys being with her husbands."

"Oh...okay," he said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. "I wasn't trying to say we should fast-forward to panty dropping, by the way. It's still Friday, after all. Not that I turn into a skirt chaser at the stroke of midnight like some sort of reverse Cinderella. I assure you I don't travel around in a pumpkin carriage either."

Nervous, rambling Edward was absolutely adorable, making my stomach flip-flop and my heart beat a little faster. But I quickly reminded myself that there was no way he would be interested, not to mention the fact that he was off limits if I wanted to keep my job.

"There isn't much panty dropping, though she does start to enjoy it at some point. With Rhett, of course, who you're about to meet for the first time. Now watch, before I call my fairy godmother and wish for a mute button for you."

I saw him turn to me out of the corner of my eye and he stared at me for a long moment. "What makes you think I don't have a fairy godmother?" he whispered.

I turned to him with my heart in my throat, the look on his face so soft and open. "What would you wish for?" I asked cautiously.

He looked at me for a long minute before answering. "Ireland at Christmastime, and someone special to share it with," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I swallowed loudly and kept my eyes locked with his. "That sounds nice," I all but whispered, the tension between us almost palpable. As silly as it sounds, it almost felt as if the air was crackling with energy.

Just then there was a loud yell from the television, which made me jump. "The war is about to start," I declared, turning to the television. I felt him watch me for a quick moment before he turned to the screen.

"Oh, good," he said with enthusiasm. "I hope the amputations start soon."

"Ooh," I exclaimed, slapping his arm lightly. "There's a fainting scene coming up, and they have to get the smelling salts. Just like would happen to me if Mr. Cullen visited IT!"

"Does anyone who lives in the twenty-first century actually carry smelling salts, if they even exist anymore?" he asked wryly.

"I don't know, but the potential for a visit makes me think I should find out. I can keep them in my desk next to the change of clothes. Or we could have Jacob breathe in my face."

"Who's Jacob? Your fairy godmother?"

"Ha, not quite! You know him as the Mouth Breather. He's got the worst breath. I don't know if it's because he breathes through his mouth or not, but it is foul. I don't want him too close to me."

"I don't want him too close to you, either. Maybe I'll see if I can find you some smelling salts so we don't have to rely on him instead," Edward pondered.

"Well, most days his body odor smells like wet dog, so just have him stand in my general vicinity and I'm sure it will wake me up. And make Mr. Cullen's eyes water."

"Sounds like you work in a very pleasant environment," he quipped.

"You're funny," I replied dryly.

"Ah, humor. Something that also tends to be relative," he said, smirking at me. "Is there a good spot to pause coming up? I'd like to run over to the concession stand and then use the bathroom."

"Wait just a few more minutes," I told him. "The entire city of Atlanta is about to burn to the ground, then there's an actual intermission with a musical overture. I guess folks in nineteen thirty nine couldn't hold it in as well as we can today."

"We humans have truly evolved as a species. Clark Gable would not have wooden teeth today, and therefore wouldn't have bad breath. Plus, now we can hold in our pee while a city burns to the ground. Bravo, mankind. Bravo."

I laughed so hard I started to cough, so I ran to the bathroom, lest I have an unattractive coughing fit in front of the best looking man I'd ever met. Once I got it under control, I walked back to the living room, only to find the intermission had started and Edward sitting on my couch holding the cough medicine he had bought.

"I think it's time for some cough syrup," he said, handing me the bottle. "Someone named Mary Poppins says a spoonful of sugar will help the medicine go down, but I tend not to trust women who fly around with the aid of magical umbrellas."

"Thanks," I said gratefully, walking into the kitchen and taking a swig of the cherry flavored goop while Edward headed for the bathroom. I remembered seeing some pretzels as we were unpacking and eventually found them in one of my cabinets. I grabbed a bowl and poured some in, no longer mindful of my germs. We had been together for hours and I had practically coughed in his face before; if he didn't have my disease yet, he wasn't going to get it.

I carried the bowl and two bottles of water back into the living room and settled onto the couch.

"Feeling better?" Edward asked when he came back.

"Yeah, thanks again," I said shyly, handing him the bowl of pretzels. "There's not much I can do in return, but the least I could do was find the pretzels you paid for."

"You're an excellent gatherer to my hunter," he replied, smiling at me. "Thank you kindly."

"You're welcome," I replied, laughing softly. We did seem to complement each other well.

I put the movie back on and we watched for a while before my eyelids started to get heavy and I shivered slightly. But not so slightly that Edward didn't notice. "Are you cold?" he asked, reaching for the blanket on the end of the couch before I could answer.

I went to reach for it to cover myself but he kept it out of my reach. "Here, let me," he said softly.

How could I refuse? I nodded and he draped it gently over me as I curled up and laid my head on the arm of the couch. His hand rested briefly on my arm and I didn't realize how much I longed for contact until he took it away. I sighed softly and mumbled a thank you. I don't know if he responded because the next thing I knew, sunshine was streaming through my windows and the contact was back. Except now Edward's body was curled around mine on my couch, every inch of him pressed to me, his arm thrown around my middle.

I blinked a few times and tried to find my bearings. I didn't remember anything after taking the cough medicine and getting the pretzels for Edward, but he was still here for some reason. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that as deliciously hard as his body was, there was a certain part that wasn't. Not that I would have minded feeling _that_ behind me in the morning, but I was mortified enough for the both of us, I didn't need him to be embarrassed by waking up in an aroused state.

I shifted a little, intending to get up, but Edward tightened his arm around me and breathed deeply into the back of my neck, giving me goose bumps all over my body and butterflies in my stomach. He really did affect me in ways I hadn't felt in a long time, if ever.

Reminding myself that he was off limits for so many reasons, I carefully extracted myself from him, wanting him to sleep a little bit more so I could compose myself and figure out what the hell had happened last night. He was still fully clothed, so I assumed nothing of a sexual nature occurred. That was good, because I would want to remember sex with Edward. Hell, I would want a DVD copy so I could watch it over and over. In slow motion.

I stole a glance at him as he was sleeping. Unguarded and relaxed, he was even more attractive, but in a different way. He looked content and peaceful and almost boy-like in slumber, even though he was on my couch. I took a chance and ran one of my hands gently through his hair; it was unbelievably soft. He let out a light sigh of contentment and I snatched my hand away, lest I get caught and have to explain why my hand was in his hair. We spent the night together, but that didn't give me permission to touch his hair like I was some sort of mommy orangutan, grooming him and searching for nits.

As I freshened up in the bathroom, I remembered that Edward had very sweetly draped a blanket over me. I wondered if he was some kind of dominating personality who had to control everything, or if he simply wanted to be nice to me. Again, I couldn't figure out why this successful, powerful, wealthy, heart-stoppingly gorgeous man had taken an interest in me. But I would enjoy it while I could.

I slept remarkably well and was feeling human for the first time in days. Maybe Edward really did have magical healing properties. Perhaps we could travel the world together and wipe out the Ebola virus. Or even SARS. We'd be like a superhero team, eradicating diseases worldwide. There would be parades and holidays in our honor and we'd be lavished with praise. Sadly, it probably wouldn't make us any money and I'd still be stuck in this sublet with no cable television and an empty fridge.

I took a shower and changed into fresh pajamas (light blue with ice skating penguins) and when I went back into the living room, Edward was still sleeping soundly. Maybe he was used to sleeping in strange apartments. Perhaps this was standard for him – get the woman out of her panties and then sack out after a night of mind-blowing sex. Too bad I missed out on the best part. I wondered if the women made him breakfast the next morning as a thank you. Erring on the side of being a good hostess, I decided to throw something together. Also, the smell might wake him up, meaning I wouldn't have to, because that might be weird.

I wasn't exactly sure what I had in my kitchen, but after foraging around for a little while I decided on tomato and avocado omelets with toast. My stomach started to growl mid-way through cooking and I realized my appetite was back full force, for which I was grateful. I would have hated to waste all this food by vomiting it back up.

By the time the eggs were almost ready, Edward still hadn't woken up. I was amazed that he could sleep through all that noise and the smell of cooking eggs, but then again, it was possible he did this every weekend and was able to sleep through all sorts of activity.

I decided it was time to wake him up, but I didn't want to be inappropriate. I would have liked to wake him up by running my hand through his soft hair again and hearing another sigh, but wasn't sure touching him was the best strategy. It might make him uncomfortable and it wasn't like we were intimate last night.

I walked softly over to where he was sleeping, still not sure how to wake him, when I realized I was still holding the spatula I used to make our omelets. After silently admiring him for another minute, I gently poked him with the end of the spatula. He sighed and I had an almost overwhelming urge to get back on the couch with him again and put his arm around me, pretending that I hadn't woken up at all. I just wanted to be close to him for a little bit longer.

But figuring that the breakfast I just prepared would be a dead-giveaway that I'd been up and about already, and dismissing the idea of throwing it out after seriously contemplating it for a minute, I poked him again, just a little bit harder this time.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked around before his gaze fell on me. He smiled at me and sat up, running his hand through his hair, and that's when I saw it. I knew what stupid Jessica from the Art Department had been talking about, and why she couldn't seem to stop talking about its magnificence.

_Sex Hair. _

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**Thank you to everyone who continues to read, review and recommend this story. **

**Thank you to DoUTrustMe, Caren and Kassiah for their review of DMM on The Fictionators, and to TwiCarol for recommending DMM on Jasper's Naughty Girls.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	8. Chapter 8

**We did better with review replies this time around. If we didn't get to yours, please don't be offended. We answer in the order in which they're received. Like customer service. Your review is very important to us, please continue to hold...er, read.**

**Thanks to SR for betaing and Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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_Edward_  
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Saturday mornings were sacred.

It was one of the few times during the week in which I allowed myself some reprieve from the responsibilities of being Cullen, Inc.'s CFO. From the hours of midnight Friday to noon on Saturday, I tried to do anything except work on accounts and reports. Usually I slept until eight – a true luxury – and indulged in simple tasks that other people probably took for granted. I'd make myself Eggs Benedict and laugh if I didn't poach the eggs quite right. I'd play some tunes on my piano, daring to play pop music if I was feeling a bit out there. Or I'd read a book. Saturday mornings were a good time.

I'd been looking forward to this particular weekend for some time, as I didn't have a benefit or fundraiser to attend. However, it was clear from the moment I woke up this morning that this really wasn't an ordinary Saturday. It was now almost two in the afternoon and I was _still _mortified.

I'd woken up at Bella's apartment. Apparently, I'd fallen asleep on her couch while watching _Gone with the Wind_. I'd felt terribly embarrassed for multiple reasons. For a start, I'd nodded off during her favorite movie, which was probably incredibly insulting. I knew how much she liked both the book and the film. In my defense, a running time of two hundred and forty four minutes wasn't exactly standard. Perhaps I would have fared better had I taken an espresso shot and paid the theater usher to poke me if they saw me struggling to keep my eyes open.

But I hadn't really been in a movie theater. I'd been in Bella's living room. _Bella_. I'd gone over to her place, bought her a truckload of groceries, had dinner with her and then fallen asleep during a movie. If Carlisle were to hear that I'd spent the night at a female employee's apartment, he'd probably have an aneurysm. As sensible as he was, the threat of litigation would make him especially nervous. He'd have his butler summon me to his penthouse – as in Carlisle's penthouse, not the butler's – and interrogate me before I even got a chance to say I'd slept in my business suit and not my birthday suit. Then he'd push his butler aside and start asking me questions on his own, in an Upper East Side version of good cop, bad cop. Maybe I'd even get served hors d'oeuvres – lobster puffs if I was lucky.

The point to prove, however, would be that I _didn't_ get lucky. Considering Bella was kind _and _beautiful, such a fact might end up being very difficult to prove. Even in her sick state, she was stunning. In fact, she could wear a potato sack, or pajamas covered in little potato sacks, and _still _look gorgeous. And to think I'd convinced myself that beautiful women couldn't be funny and interesting. Infomercial Woman, it seemed, really wasn't representative of all women in New York City.

In order to wake me up, Bella had poked me with a spatula. I'd been quite disoriented at first, understandably, commenting that I was "probably far too big to be flipped by a regular spatula." She'd blushed furiously for some unknown reason before retreating to the kitchen to finish cooking our breakfast. I'd felt too embarrassed to do anything but wait patiently at the dining table. After we'd finished breakfast – the tastiest eggs I've eaten in a long time, actually – she thanked me again for the groceries and I took that as my cue to leave. I would've left my briefcase behind had she not pointed it out; I'd almost had a Cinderella moment there and then, leaving behind a proverbial glass slipper so she'd be able to track me down later. I had all sorts of documents in that briefcase with my address and contact details included.

In this modern world, however, there was no need for such a clue. She could simply email me if she wanted to talk to me again.

_If _she wanted to talk to me again. For all I knew, she was still holding her spatula, waiting to poke any other CFO who happened to break into her building. I had probably stepped over the line by visiting her, but I'd honestly been worried. If anything, I was helping out the company by checking on the validity of employee absences. Plus, it would have been a PR disaster if Bella had been overworked by Cullen, Inc. to the point of exhaustion. What if she'd been found by her neighbors, four days from now, fatigued to the point of delusions?

I wanted to say that Bella and I were friends, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure. When we'd discussed the non-fraternization policy, she'd asked whether friendships were allowed and I'd responded in the affirmative. She wouldn't have asked that had she not considered us to be on the path to friendship. Although, this was before I fell asleep on her couch.

When I'd gotten home, the first thing I did was have a shower. After I'd written myself a post-it reminder to get my suit dry-cleaned, I then tried my hand at playing a few classical pieces on my piano. Unfortunately, amusing myself in this way seemed kind of sad after the night I'd had. Bella had been good company.

I wasn't used to just 'hanging out' with people. That was what everyone else was probably doing right now. And here I was, in my study, reviewing figures and spreadsheets. Numbers were great, but they weren't my friends. They couldn't talk to me. (Although, accounting would probably be easier if an incorrect figure could tell me it had been wrongly placed.) After the fun I'd had with Bella, my weekend plans seemed especially lame, and I found myself wondering how she was doing. Since I'd only left her place several hours ago, it would probably be remiss to email her right now, but nonetheless she was on my mind. It wasn't often that I connected with someone.

Bored, I decided that it was probably time to go grocery shopping. After that, I'd maybe tidy my apartment. There were shelves to be dusted and sheet music to be alphabetized - I had a biweekly cleaning service, but a touch-up here and there wouldn't hurt.

Maybe I _should _have invested in some cleaning products courtesy of my last date. At least that way, something good would have come from that disaster.

It was now eleven o'clock on Sunday night.

The rest of my weekend had been rather bland. Admittedly, there were a few mildly exciting moments. The butcher at Dean & DeLuca told me a riveting story about the rising cost of Wagyu beef, and then this morning I received a call from American Express. Sure, it had been a misplaced call – the customer service representative had meant to call an Edward Mesan who lived on the Upper West Side – but she'd been nice enough to explain some of the new benefits that were going to be introduced for the top-tier cardholder. That kept me happy for awhile.

But the majority of my time had been dedicated to work. Jasper Whitlock had given me a fright when he'd emailed me at three in the afternoon – I'd immediately assumed he'd done something stupid to the Marketing budget, like replace all twos with threes for fun. But in the end, it had just been a note to say his wife, Alice, was in Mozambique. Why I needed to be informed of this information, I had no idea, but at least it only wasted one minute of my time and nothing more.

I should have gone to bed an hour ago, since Mondays were always an early start for me. I needed to go to the gym in the morning (I'd found time yesterday to make a new playlist for my iPod.) Unfortunately, I was too restless to go to bed. I felt like I'd wasted a whole two days. It had dragged, too. It was such a contrast to the fun I'd had with Bella on Friday night. If we were good enough friends, I could have visited her again today to check in on her. Alas, I wasn't.

While I'd figured our email correspondence would begin again when Bella returned to work, I felt like sending her an email _now_. Thinking I should at least apologize again for the way I'd dropped in on her, I sat at my desk and reopened my laptop.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan  
****Date: Sunday, June 13, 2010 at 11:11 PM**  
**Subject: Me and Ewe**

Dear Bella/Ms. Swan,

I'm not sure if you're checking your emails at the moment, but I thought I'd email you again anyway. I truly am sorry for any inconvenience I caused with my visit. My intentions were good, I assure you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. It must have been very strange for you to have the CFO of the company sleeping on your couch. Perhaps you should have whacked me in the head with that spatula – I am also sorry for not staying awake for the remainder of _Gone with the Wind_.

I should be asleep, actually, but I'm too unsettled to call it a night. I must feel guilty about the way I fell asleep two nights ago. I suppose I could lie in bed and count sheep or something, but being a numbers man, I count sheep far too efficiently. Now, maybe if the sheep were doing something more than jumping over a fence...perhaps they should surprise me by jumping in threes or fours, or to the beat of a song. Of course, it's up to my own mind to control what the sheep do, so I don't know how they'd _surprise _me.

Sorry, I'm rambling.

I hope you are doing better in your recovery. On another note, I went to my local D&D yesterday and Stock Boy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he's sick, too. Or maybe he _was _there, but was spying on me from another aisle. I've never thought about this before, but if he wanted to stalk me, he could steal the surveillance tapes in the store. Maybe he's already uploaded last week's cream incident onto YouTube. If only there was a way of searching for it without coming across more inappropriate search results. If I find it, I'll share the link with you, but only so I can prove that Stock Boy's manager has a nostril-flaring problem. I'm sure there's a way of zooming in on her nose, though you might not need to.

I really can't believe it's Monday again tomorrow. Do you know yet when you'll be back at work? I really did miss your emails this week.

I suppose I should retire to bed and conjure some dancing, jumping, groups of sheep. I have to go to the gym tomorrow. Lifting weights. It takes a lot of strength to hold up my entire department, you know.

Edward  
The Lone Shepherd

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan **  
**To: Edward Masen****  
****Date: Monday, June 14, 2010 at 11:15 AM**  
**Subject: Emily Post Called, She Wants Her Manners Back**

****Dear Mr. Masen,

Sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I am back at work this morning, but I'm not sure I'll last the full day; I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm already feeling worn out and I've only been here for two hours. I may have been pushing it by coming in today, but I couldn't afford to lose another day's pay. I do wish my co-workers were a little more understanding, however. I have a huge pile of work on my desk and Mouth Breather sent me to the server room to install some RAM upgrades. It wouldn't normally be a big deal, but I specifically asked him not to give me any work that required physical activity. It stinks being low woman on the totem pole. (Is that racist? I hope not, as I have nothing but the utmost respect and sympathy for the indigenous peoples of this country.)

I'm sorry you were too unsettled to sleep last night, but I sincerely hope it didn't have anything to do with your visit to my apartment. I hope it's not too forward of me to say that I really enjoyed having you there, and not just because you stocked my fridge (thank you again, by the way). Though I suppose nothing is too forward for us at this point. You've seen me in my pajamas (with and without underwear), with a red, runny nose, and we've slept together. I can't imagine anything is off limits at this point.

Don't worry about falling asleep during _Gone with the Wind_. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep first. Couple that with you not only buying my groceries but preparing dinner as well, and I'm probably up for the award for worst hostess of the year. I'm sorry about that. I'm usually much more attentive when I have guests in my home.

As for the rest of my weekend, I rested and recuperated, watched a few baseball games and Spanish soap operas, and ate really, really well. My goodness, those chocolates you left me were absolutely sinful. It's a good thing there weren't too many or I would surely ruin my figure in a matter of days, and then I might never meet Mr. Right.

I may call it a day right after lunch, especially since Jacob stares at me and wrinkles his nose every time I cough. As if I wasn't covering my mouth, which I am. I think I'll lick his mouse next time he steps away from his desk.

Speaking of which, I hope being in such close proximity to me over the weekend hasn't caused you to catch whatever I have. That would make me feel much worse than I do already. Besides, it seems Mr. Cullen can't survive without you for a few days, and I'd hate to be responsible for him having a meltdown at your absence. He may feel like that required a visit to IT, and I think we both know how I would handle that, especially with you home sick and not here to revive me and/or change my clothes.

Isabella "Typhoid" Swan  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan  
****Date: Monday, June 14, 2010 at 12:05 PM**  
**Subject: An Intervention (or two)**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I am sorry to hear you're still feeling under the weather. You'll probably be heading back home soon, but I am enraged that Mouth Breather assigned you these tasks. I have put my plans for world domination aside so I can now concentrate on how to put Mouth Breather back into his place. Or perhaps into a place where it's even harder for him to breathe. No, not six feet under. I was thinking more along the lines of locking him up in Supply Closet number two on the thirtieth floor. No one would think to look for him in there...though I'm sure Research and Development would probably be suspicious of any heavy breathing coming from a closet. That's not the type of research we engage in at Cullen, Inc. If it were, I certainly wouldn't be here.

(No, really. I want to put Mouth Breather in his place. I'll work on it.)

My inability to sleep was in no way your fault. Eventually, I got tired of calculating the arc in which my imaginary sheep were jumping over their imaginary fence. Interestingly, there is such a thing as an imaginary number (a number that when squared equals a negative result) but I won't bore you with the explanation. Although, I suppose I just did. Sorry about that. I think I'm a little flustered because you said we slept together. Um, did we? Forgive my confusion – I woke up alone on your couch and simply assumed I'd spent the night like that.

Um, anyway, I'm glad the groceries have served you well so far. I wasn't aware those chocolates were that sinful. They should come with a warning label from the FDA: _Refrigerate after opening. Then repent. _Trust me when I say I wouldn't do anything to purposely sabotage your search for Mr. Right. Unless you suddenly signed up for _The Bachelor _or any other questionable reality dating show. I'm afraid I'd have to step in at that point.

You probably think I like to step in on things a bit too much, but forgive me one last intrusion. I spoke to HR and explained that you probably deserve some sick pay after all the computer work you've done for me. I'd told them previously that my computer seemed to be having some sort of mid-life crisis, since it's at risk of being replaced by a new, shinier model. Many a joke about viruses was made, and I think you'll be entitled to some sick pay for last week now. You're not allowed to protest. I thought you were an excellent hostess in light of the fact that I invited myself over, and this is only fair. For future reference, if you ever visit HR, they have a ton of cough drops there. I guess they'd be infected with every sick HR employee's germs though, like beer nuts at a bar. On second thought, don't touch the cough drops. I don't want you to get sick again.

Let's think positive here. I'm sure Carlisle will only visit IT when I am alive and kicking (preferably kicking Mouth Breather) and able to revive/change you. I'll be meeting with him later this afternoon, so maybe I'll even ask which department is next on his schedule.

Edward Masen  
Stepping in  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Bella**  
**To: Edward Masen**  
**Date: Monday, June 14, 2010 at 4:26 PM  
****Subject: Clothing Optional**

Hi Edward,

I'm home now, and just woke up from a long and much needed nap. I feel markedly better and am hoping to be back to myself sooner rather than later.

If you're asking if we slept together, _slept together_, the answer is no. Not that I recall, anyway. I was pretty out of it so anything could have happened, though I like to think at least one of us would remember something like that if it actually happened. But as far as I remember, we woke up on the couch together, fully clothed, though we were, for lack of a better term, cuddling. I suppose it was inevitable, what with how narrow the couch is, so I tried not to read too much into it. I was fascinated, however, with how you slept through me banging around in the kitchen while making our breakfast. I'd convinced myself that you were used to sleeping out, and that was why you were able to sleep through all that noise. But I now realize that's probably very insulting, so allow me to apologize for my errant thoughts.

I can handle Mouth Breather. Really. Jake is kind of an asshole but nothing I can't deal with. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable right now because of how sick I've been. I'll take care of his smug ass when I'm feeling better. I don't know how yet, but I'm thinking of defacing his _Hot Women of Sci-Fi_ calendar. I wonder how much joy he'd get out of Lieutenant Uhura if she was fully clothed, pig that he is.

I don't think I'm quite desperate enough to sign on to a reality show, but if those chocolates were the prize, I might reconsider. Also, I ate the lobster macaroni and cheese for lunch after I woke up. Talk about sinful. I could get used to eating like this. As rich as the food is, it's wonderfully satisfying and like a party in my mouth.

Part of me wants to protest about you stepping in for me with HR, but I can't find it in myself to object. You're really very kind to me and I can't express how grateful I am for your intervention. My bank account thanks you as well, as I now have a fully stocked kitchen and a full paycheck on the way. I feel like I've literally hit the lottery. I'd like to repay your kindness in some way. Maybe I could cook for you this weekend, provided I'm back to full health. I promise to try to stay awake this time, and I have a vague memory of you mentioning that you liked curry. I also have a huge rack of lamb in my refrigerator that needs to be cooked soon. I've invited my friend Rose and her husband over for dinner on Saturday night. Would you like to join us? Though maybe you have plans; that is your panty-dropping night, isn't it? We can make it another night if you're busy.

Thank you again for being so kind to me. I really would like to cook for you some time to show you my gratitude.

Bella  
On the Road to Recovery

* * *

**From: Edward Masen**  
**To: Isabella Swan  
****Date: Tuesday, June 15, 2010 at 10:05 AM**  
**Subject: Memory Lane**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I hope you are feeling better, and that you are indeed at work today.

I don't usually crash on other people's couches, so I assure you I slept through all the noise because I was exhausted. Exhausted from my work week, not _other _activities. I am relieved to hear we did not sleep together, _sleep together_. That is not to say you are not attractive. You are. It's just that I'm the CFO and such relations aren't allowed. Plus, it would make our friendship a little awkward. That being said, I'd also like to think that one of us would remember if we had slept together, _slept together_. Memory loss in that instance would suggest that I disappointed you. Either that, or we were so concerned for our jobs that we whacked each other in the head with spatulas in order to forget. Plausible deniability and all that.

I'm sorry. That was me being flustered again. I would never hit you in the head with a spatula, especially not that hard. And I'm not trying to say that I resent you for poking me with a spatula. I don't. You didn't stain my clothes or anything, I swear. Stain with oil from the spatula, I mean, and not other stains. Not that I'm saying things would get that messy if we were to have relations. Or if we were to cuddle more intimately than we did.

I should probably stop typing now.

_Anyway_, there's an interesting story as to why I couldn't reply to your email yesterday evening. I went to the Marketing department to speak to Whitlock. When I got there, I found him obsessing over the giant world map he has on his wall. (Seriously, it's a big map. You'd think he was some sort of travel agent if you walked past his office.) He uses pushpins to represent where he and his wife are in the world. He only travels for business, so most of the time his pushpin is stuck in New York City. But his wife, Alice – who also happens to be Carlisle's daughter – travels a lot because she's a renowned forensic anthropologist. (Opposites attract, I suppose.) Whitlock being Whitlock, he managed to knock over his tray of pushpins _and _step on them by accident. Normally this wouldn't have been too bad of a mishap, but he'd taken his left shoe off because of an itch. So I had to call for medical assistance to deal with his porcupine of a foot. Carlisle was understandably horrified and tried to get a hold of his daughter. Of course he couldn't, since she's in a remote village in Mozambique on one of her expeditions. Even the map knew that.

At least the extra time with Carlisle clued me in on his schedule. I hadn't gotten a chance to ask him at our earlier meeting. Unfortunately, I am sworn to secrecy.

I would like it very much if I could come over again and taste your cooking, and it would be nice to meet your friends, too. I don't have any plans for this weekend, so scheduling shouldn't pose a problem.

Unfortunately, things have gotten particularly busy for me this week. I probably won't be able to correspond with you for several days. However, due compensation will be paid – I have a present for you on Friday. You can thank me later.

Edward Masen  
Sneaky, but not too sneaky  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

_**Bella**_

"Bella, I asked you to go reboot the marketing server. What's the hold up?"

I turned from my computer screen to Jake, a scowl on my face. It was Friday and I had already put up with enough of his crap for the week. Plus, Edward and I had only shared very brief emails since Tuesday and it was making me cranky. "And I told you I'd get to it. There's no need to be so nasty."

"Just do it, all right?" he said, his stank breath wafting over and making my stomach turn. I left Tic-Tacs on his desk a few weeks ago but he just shoved them in a drawer, obviously missing the hint.

I stood up and looked over at his workstation, where he was apparently playing some sort of game while ordering me around; there was a video game character on his monitor with huge breasts, in a bikini, waving a sword. And he was sweating and bouncing his leg up and down.

Ew.

He hadn't always been this nasty. As a matter of fact, when I first started, he was sweet and patient and very nice to me. It was after a particularly disgusting incident, and my repeated refusals to see him socially, that things became unpleasant. I knew that technically this could be considered sexual harassment, but I couldn't prove anything and I really just wanted to do my job and be left alone. Plus, he had been here for over three years and it was my word against his. I purposely didn't tell Edward about Jake's borderline harassment. I didn't want him making a big deal about it and with his history, I was sure he would.

Not wanting to rock the boat too much, and anticipating Edward's "present," I decided to play nice and go reboot the server. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I think I just liked to irk Jake at every opportunity. So I headed off to the server room, wondering, as I had been all week, what Edward could possibly be sending me today. Flowers? Chocolate? A Dean & DeLuca gift card? My own restaurant? The possibilities were endless, and I was pretty sure I'd thought of all of them. My favorite being Edward himself, wrapped up in a big red bow, waiting for me when I got home.

As I waited for the server to start up, I thought about Saturday and if Edward would get along well with Rose and Emmett. I was pretty sure I had nothing to worry about with Emmett, he was as friendly as they came, but he was also really smart, something that a lot of people didn't notice initially. Rose was pretty straightforward and could be intimidating, but I suspected Edward wasn't easily intimidated by many people. He was the CFO of a Fortune 500 company at thirty-four, and I doubted he got to where he was by accident. I just really liked him and had high hopes that everyone would get along.

Once the server was rebooted I went back to my desk, only to find a stack of hard drives that I guessed Idiot Mouth Breather wanted me to install. I really couldn't stand him.

Just as I was about to grab them and head back to the server room, the door to our space opened and a very tall, very stern looking man walked in. He wore stylish glasses and a dark blue suit that was tailored to perfection. This was no minion.

"Is there a Jacob Black here?" he asked, looking around. All activity in the room stopped as everyone turned to look at the handsome stranger.

"That's me," Jake replied, puffing his chest out and standing up to make the most of his entire five foot, six inch frame.

"Mr. Black, my name is Tyler Crowley. I'm the Vice President of Finance and I'm here to discuss some of your departmental expenditures."

Jake's face paled and I watched with glee as Mr. Crowley pulled out a sheaf of papers and motioned for Jake to sit down. Jake sat quickly and looked up like a chastened child, while all Mr. Crowley did was raise an eyebrow. Jake got even paler and looked around, obviously confused.

"I think he needs a chair," I said helpfully, not even attempting to hide my smile.

Jake got up so quickly that he knocked his own chair over, and then practically tripped over his own feet in his rush to get a another seat. Mr. Crowley stood there, shaking his head, and winked at me when our eyes met. I stifled a giggle as Jake finally got it together and they both sat. Mr. Crowley plopped down his stack of papers. "I also have some expense reports here that need explanation. We may be here a while."

Jake rubbed his hands together and they were so sweaty that I could hear them sliding together. He was so gross.

"I'm going to need receipts backing up all of these expense reports dating back to last year," he said, handing a pile of papers to Jake, who took them silently. Mr. Crowley then picked up another sheet of paper and handed it to Jake. "Now, let's go back to last year. On February the twenty sixth, you ordered..." He trailed off and his face went from mildly interested to intensely angry as he stared at a spot on the wall behind Jake's head.

"I ordered..." Jake prompted.

"Mr. Black," he replied, standing and reaching over Jake's head, "this calendar is borderline harassment and unacceptable in the workplace." I heard the tack fall to the floor as he pulled the calendar off the wall. "I'm going to confiscate this and there will be a reprimand in your permanent file. I don't want to see anything like this hanging in this office again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Jake croaked, a look of terror on his face. I was so giddy I almost had to get up from my desk to hold in my laughter but I was able to smother it in a cough. I'd been sick, after all.

And then it slowly dawned on me. This was my present from Edward. Warmth spread through my chest as I realized that Edward had gone out of his way to try to make my life easier. His generosity and kindness toward me continued to astound me, and I very much wanted to find a way to do something nice for him. But in the mean time, I was enjoying watching Jake squirm.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes, February twenty sixth of last year you ordered sixteen hard drives. Let's go through where they all wound up, shall we?"

They proceeded this way for quite a while, with Jake more often than not producing files to back up the purchase orders. It was when he didn't that Mr. Crowley eyed him suspiciously and made notations in his file. "Okay, April of this year you ordered five keyboards plus –"

"Plus?"

"Good God, man, breathe through your nose. Sitting next to you is like getting an obscene phone call. This company offers good health care. Go see a doctor," he said, wrinkling his nose and looking disgusted.

Jake mumbled an apology, his ashen face turning pink. For once, I was grateful that our desks were in full view of each other. I was sure he did that when I first arrived for less than noble reasons, but I was reaping the benefits now.

I sat at my desk for the rest of the afternoon, listening to Jake stammer through explanations for purchase orders for everything from memory sticks to laptops to monitors. When they were finished, and Mr. Crowley rose to leave, it was almost five o'clock and Jake looked shell-shocked. I felt a little bad for him, but that only lasted until the next time he spoke.

"Why haven't you installed those hard drives yet?" he demanded, spying the equipment that was still sitting on my desk. I guess since Mr. Crowley reprimanded him, he felt the need to reprimand me. Shit certainly did roll down hill. Except there wasn't really anyone under me, which made passing it on difficult. It was becoming tiresome.

"Where are these going, Mr. Black?" Mr. Crowley asked, walking swiftly over to my desk and motioning to the hard drives.

"Bella was supposed to install those in the back-up R&D server this morning. But as usual, she didn't do as she was told," he said petulantly.

I blushed and looked up at Mr. Crowley, only to have him smile gently down at me. "Mr. Black," he said, turning from me to Jake, "I don't appreciate the way you've just spoken about your co-worker. That's not how we treat each other in this company. Why don't you install them yourself and learn to treat your colleagues with a little more respect. I'll be keeping my eye on you." He grabbed some papers off of Jake's desk and walked toward the door. "In the mean time, I need you to produce those receipts within the week." With that, he turned and walked out the door.

I didn't know if anything would change after today, but this was one of my best days at Cullen, Inc., thanks to Edward.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who continues to read, review and recommend this story. Thanks to EdwardsBloodType and GreenEyedGirl17 for their recs – your support is much appreciated.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to SR for betaing and Lucette212 for prereading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**

* * *

**

_**Bella**_

I got an early start on Saturday, wanting to make everything perfect for my dinner party. I was nervous, which I knew was silly, but I was powerless to stop the queasiness and slight tremors that I always experienced when I was anxious. I had one friend in all of New York, and I wanted to make another. The two of them getting along well would go a long way in accomplishing that. I could keep them separate, but I didn't really want to.

Edward and I had shared very few emails last week, and the ones we did exchange were short and mostly details about tonight. He was working late every night and was at the office early every morning, and I wondered how he could be so nice on so little sleep. I would have been a huge crab and snapping at everyone for the smallest infractions. Then again, I never saw him in action at work. I only knew how he was with me, and that was unfailingly kind and sweet. He might have been a complete ogre with the number crunchers. A pretty ogre, but an ogre nonetheless.

I may have overdressed just a little for an intimate dinner with friends. I was usually one for jeans and t-shirts, or khakis and a nice sweater on occasion, but today I was wearing a wrap dress and sandals. And as much as I tried to convince myself that it wasn't for Edward, I knew in the place in my head where the truth resided that I never would have dressed like this if only Emmett and Rose were coming over. But I didn't dwell too much on it, since that place where the truth resided also told me that Edward was in this for friendship and friendship alone and I needed to keep that in the forefront of my mind before I made more of a fool out of myself. Declaring my lack of underwear or asking him if he went out and dropped panties on weekends were the last embarrassing things I wanted to say to Edward.

Also embarrassing was the time I wore the same pants to work two days in a row and almost walked out the door with the previous day's underwear dangling from my pant leg. Even though I was currently wearing a dress, I still looked down at my leg. After concluding that I probably should have moisturized a bit more, I shook away all thoughts of underwear. I didn't want to think of Edward actually making panties drop.

My doorbell rang at exactly seven o'clock. Knowing how punctual Edward was likely to be, my stomach immediately filled with butterflies; butterflies that were very restless and seemed to want to migrate to other parts of my body. I was almost shaking with nerves as I opened the door, but much to my surprise, it was the perpetually tardy Rosalie and Emmett on the other side.

"Oh, hi," I greeted.

Rose raised an eyebrow and sauntered past me, followed by Emmett, who stopped to give me a bottle of wine and a kiss on the cheek before following her inside. "You look pretty," he remarked.

"Why so disappointed? You did ask us over, didn't you?" Rosalie asked, her arms crossed as she stood in my living room.

"Of course I did, and I'm not disappointed. I was just surprised you were on time for once," I retorted, trying to deflect the fact that I _was _disappointed that she was on the other side of the door. She was my friend, but I didn't have quite the same reaction to her that I had to Edward. Which was good, what with both of us being straight. Emmett at times joked about girl on girl action and threesomes, but I didn't swing that way. I didn't swing at all, especially not in public playgrounds Those swing sets were an accident waiting to happen.

"Hey, there, little lady," Emmett said. "Our record isn't that bad."

"Oh, really? Were you the one who kept me waiting outside CitiField last year until the fifth inning of the Mets game after you accidentally packed the tickets in an evidence box at work? And how about the time I was dating that musician and we missed his tuba solo while I waited for you to pick me up? Or the time –"

"Okay, we get it," Rose interrupted. "But we're here now so quit yer bitchin'. What are you making? It smells delicious."

"Rack of lamb with lemon, basil, and mint; roasted potatoes; string beans with pignoli nuts and shallots; and I baked a loaf of rosemary bread this afternoon," I announced proudly.

"You're killing me," Emmett proclaimed. He was a huge fan of my cooking, so I loved feeding him. There was nothing better for me than having someone really appreciate something I created in the kitchen.

"Rack of lamb? Did you get a raise?" Rose asked suspiciously.

I rolled my eyes and regarded her carefully. She was always looking out for me, and I appreciated her more than I could say, but her suspicions were ridiculous. Never mind that it was true that I _was_ hiding something from her. She had no way of knowing that. I told her the basics of my friendship with Edward, but left out the groceries and the slumber party we had on my couch.

"Never mind where I got it, let's just enjoy, okay?"

"So tell me more about this friend you have coming over tonight," Rose inquired, sitting down on the couch next to Emmett, who flipped on the television and immediately turned to a baseball game.

"He's someone I was exchanging emails with at work and he came over last week when I was sick to check on me. He's nice," I said, a blush creeping across my cheeks. I ran to the kitchen and opened the oven to explain away the heat on my face, but I was sure they noticed.

"You really need to get cable, Swan," Emmett grumbled from the couch, effectively changing the subject.

"You want to pay for it?" I asked, standing up and closing the oven door.

"I would think that if you could afford rack of lamb, you could afford cable," Rose interjected, her eyebrow arched. She knew me too well and was trying to get something out of me that I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet, anyway.

"It's not like I need the Food Network," I said in my defense. "The money would be better spent on actual food. Or duct tape for Rachael Ray's mouth."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. I winked at Rose and turned to answer it.

When I opened the door and saw Edward standing there smiling with a bottle of wine in his hand, I practically launched myself at him without thinking. It only took him a split second, but his arms came firmly around me, enveloping me in a tight hug.

"You all right?" he asked gently.

"Yeah, I am," I replied. "I'm just happy to see you. And...just...thanks for Friday."

"You're welcome," he answered, his breath on my neck making me shiver. "Did you enjoy it?"

"You have no idea," I said, a small giggle escaping me.

"I got the report early this morning," he whispered. "He does have some things to answer for, so it worked out. I might even get you a promotion."

I giggled again and reluctantly moved away from him, immediately missing him warmth. "Sorry about that," I apologized, clearing my throat.

"That's okay," he replied, handing me the bottle of wine. "I didn't mind. I like when women throw themselves at me. Having tomatoes, bottles, or insults thrown at me, however, not so much."

"Um...come in and meet my friends," I stammered.

I led Edward somewhat nervously into my apartment, holding the bottle of wine he gifted me like a shield. "Edward," I began, "this is my friend Rosalie and her husband Emmett. Who's also my friend, and not just my friend's husband. I mean, he's more to me than just a title of friend's husband. And this is Edward. From work. We work together. Not together, but at the same company." I pulled up short and noticed everyone staring at me, so I took a deep breath and looked down, only to be met with Rose's laughter.

"Slow down there, Bella," Rose said, rolling her eyes and laughing.

I was terribly embarrassed and sure my face was red. I was about to stutter out a defense when I felt a gentle touch on my back. "You're doing fine," Edward said softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Keeping his hand on my back, he reached his other hand out and shook with Emmett. "Good to meet you," he said. He turned to Rose and stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Rosalie."

Rose shook his hand and I noticed her eyeing him curiously. She finally let go of his hand and she looked at me, an expression on her face I wasn't used to seeing. It was embarrassment.

Edward took the wine from my hand and turned toward the kitchen. "Why don't I open this?" he said, finding the exact drawer the wine opener was in and using it to uncork the bottle.

"Sorry about that," Rose whispered to me sincerely.

"That's okay," I replied, waving her off. "Wine?"

"Sure," she said, sitting back down next to Emmett as I made my way over to the kitchen to retrieve the wine glasses from my cabinet. I handed them to Edward and he poured the wine like a pro.

I wondered whether all wealthy people had to be proficient in wine service, or just those who didn't have butlers or maids. Then I wondered if Edward had either. Somehow, I couldn't picture Edward on his knees, scrubbing his bathtub – he had to have a maid or a cleaning service of some sort.

"Everything okay?" Edward asked.

"Yeah," I said, smiling at him and trying desperately to remember what was going on. Oh, right, he was worried about Rosalie. "She's overly protective and it comes out strangely sometimes."

"If you say so," he remarked, handing me two glasses and taking two himself before we made our way to the living room. I gave my two glasses to Emmett and Rosalie and Edward handed me one of his as he settled on the arm chair and I sat on the ottoman in front of him. The butterflies started flying around at warp speed, which I knew couldn't be healthy for them.

"You a baseball fan, Edward?" Emmett asked, tearing his eyes away from the game that was currently on television.

"Not as such, though I do enjoy going to the games," he replied, taking a sip of wine.

"Bella here is an expert. She's taught me a thing or two about the game," Emmett said.

"Oh, I doubt that," I interjected, sipping my wine. It was absolutely the most delicious thing I'd ever had in my mouth.

"Edward! This wine is amazing," I exclaimed.

"I should hope so. My neighbor sold it to me, claiming it was fantastic. He ordered a case from Bordeaux and they accidentally sent two," he explained, sounding a bit nervous as I spied Rose and Emmett sipping from their glasses out of the corner on my eye. "He initially offered to give me a forty euro discount – all I had to do was feed his goldfish for him while he was away – but then he realized his wife was going to hire a maid. Presumably the maid would take care of the fish feeding, too."

So his _neighbor _had a maid.

"I don't have a maid," Edward declared, apparently worried about what we'd think of him. He began to ramble, which I found oddly endearing. "I have a cleaning lady, but that's mainly because I get confused with what product does what, and how much to use to get the desired effect. And I also work very long hours. I'm not slob though, so it's not like she has to come in every day."

Ah, no maid then.

Emmett cleared his throat. "Wow, this is good. Better than the Four Buck Chuck we brought, huh, Rosie?" he said, peering into his glass.

"It's delicious," Rose said appreciatively. "Maybe we should save it for dinner." Rose placed her glass on the coffee table, looking a little uncomfortable.

Edward ran a hand through his hair, seemingly nervous. "Er, yes, that's a...a good idea."

The night had just begun and I felt disaster looming. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"So you work with Bella, Edward?" Emmett asked, restarting the conversation. "Are you also a burgeoning chef who works with computers to pay the bills?"

"Ah, no. I'm a burgeoning slacker who works with numbers to pay the bills."

"You're an accountant?" Rose asked, leaning forward and picking up her wine.

"Yes," Edward replied, nodding.

"He's being modest," I interjected. "He's the CFO of the company."

"It's nothing really. I slept my way to the top," Edward replied, a completely serious look on his face. "I've had a very taxing couple of years."

I laughed out loud and once Edward cracked a smile, Rose and Emmett joined in.

"I would try that," Emmett began after his laughter died down, "but you should see my sergeant. I'd hate to have to climb that mountain every night."

"Ew, Em!" Rose said, wiping the tears from underneath her eyes.

"Sergeant?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, I'm a cop. Rosie here is a nurse."

"That's how they met," I told Edward. "Emmett used to come around the hospital on cases and would try to flirt with Rose."

"What do you mean try?" Emmett said. "I was a master flirter."

Rosalie snorted and looked at her husband, smiling wickedly. "Yeah, the master. That's why it took you eight months and a splinter to finally ask me out."

"A splinter?" Edward asked.

"Yeah," Rose explained. "He would come in with a suspect or with one of his colleagues and make googly eyes at me but he never got past 'Hi, Nurse Hale.' Until one night, right there in exam room two, was my big bear of a man. From the way he was grimacing and complaining, I thought he had gallstones or something. Then I saw that he was nursing his finger. You should've seen the way he cringed when I took a _splinter _out of his hand."

"I wasn't cringing that much," Emmett grumbled. "It hurt."

"Aw, honey, it's okay. You're all man. Even though I would bet my left arm that you had tears in your eyes."

"The tears were because I was so moved by your beauty," Emmett said, leaning his head on Rose's shoulder and looking up at her with big eyes.

Rose snorted out a laugh and pushed him away playfully while I sneaked a look at Edward. He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't identify, though the intensity in his eyes made me blush. When he caught me looking he cleared his throat and smiled over at Rose and Em.

"So, the rest is history, as they say?" he asked them.

"You could say that," Rose replied, putting her hand on Em's leg. "He was pretty much mine after the splinter incident."

"I was yours the minute I laid eyes on you," Emmett whispered, looking directly at Rose. She blushed and rolled her eyes, but I knew she loved the attention. They were a particularly affectionate couple and their love was an inspiring thing to witness. They really were made for each other. Like peas and carrots. Though I hated peas, the nasty tasting little fuckers, so maybe that was a poor analogy.

"Ooh, peanut butter and jelly!" I exclaimed, my arm flying backwards and knocking Edward's wine glass out of his hand.

Right into his lap.

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry," I cried as I watched the red liquid spread over his legs.

He righted the glass and stood up quickly while Rose ran to the kitchen, coming back in a matter of seconds with a damp cloth. I stood there mortified and on the verge of tears as Edward rubbed the cloth over his pants uselessly. Wishing I was the cloth wasn't helping the situation either.

"I never liked these pants anyway," Edward declared, looking over at me with a smile on his face. But it quickly fell when he saw my expression.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's not a big deal. Really, I hate these pants. They're the worst pants ever made. As a matter of fact, I was going to write a strongly worded letter to the manufacturer expressing my displeasure. Now I can add to it that the material doesn't repel stains."

I smiled at him and tried to see the humor in the situation, but I couldn't get past how Edward was going to have to leave now because my brain functioned on weird, socially unacceptable levels. Which was probably why I didn't have a lot of friends. And was most likely about to lose another one. But I really, really didn't want him to leave.

"Um, I can wash those for you if you'd like," I offered.

"It's fine, really. I don't mind walking around in wet clothes. It'll be like I'm at the beach, walking around in a wet bathing suit."

As I watched Emmett and Rose take a wet cloth to my chair to try to remove the stain, I slowly realized what Edward's words meant. He wasn't leaving. Despite me throwing myself at him, our discomfort at his obviously expensive wine and me spilling a glass of said very expensive wine in his lap, he wanted to stay.

"Please, I insist. Let me run down to the laundry. I think I have a pair of sweats that will fit you so you don't have to sit around in your underwear."

"That's too bad. I was going to suggest you turn the heat on. I could have pretended I was in a sauna."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed his hand, which was warm and soft, and led him into my bedroom. "Keep the door open, kids!" Emmett yelled after us.

I rummaged around in my closet until I found my over-sized UMass sweatpants, which I handed to Edward.

"You went to UMass?" he asked. "I didn't realize they had a culinary school."

"They don't. I studied English Literature and then once I got my Bachelor's, I realized what I really wanted to do was cook. So I moved here and went to the French Culinary Institute."

He looked at me for a moment with...I don't know. Curiosity? Awe? Confusion? Disgust? I really had trouble reading his expressions sometimes. I wished his face came with subtitles.

"You really are very surprising, Ms. Swan," he said, taking the sweatpants and disappearing into the bathroom.

I stood there for a minute, gathering my thoughts, which invariably went to the fact that Edward was in my bathroom, sans pants. His state of undress, and the question of whether he wore boxers or briefs, occupied my mind for a few minutes before I came to my senses.

I eventually made my way back out into the living room where Rose and Emmett had apparently given up on cleaning the chair. "I found some stain remover under the sink and it seemed to work," Emmett told me from the couch. "But it's still pretty wet."

"Thanks," I said, turning as the bathroom door opened and Edward emerged.

In sweatpants and an undershirt.

"Sorry, but my dress shirt looked ridiculous with sweats, so I took it off," he said sheepishly.

Like I cared.

"No problem," I said casually. "Hand me the pants, I'll take them down to the laundry."

"Really, Bella, it's fine. I'll have them dry cleaned."

Deciding not to argue any further, I held my hand out. "Fine. At least let me run them under some cold water and hang them up."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, handing me the pants, which I took and turned toward the bathroom.

"That's yes, ma'am, Ms. Swan to you," I replied as I walked away.

I heard him laughing as I turned on the tap in the bathroom to wash out his pants. I went to work on the stain, but wasn't making much progress so I decided to just let him have them dry cleaned. I was only standing over the sink out of guilt as it was, which seemed kind of silly since he wasn't nearly as upset as I was about the wine spilling incident.

I turned off the tap and slung the pants over the shower curtain rod, only to hear a loud thump as something landed at my feet.

I reached down and picked up Edward's open wallet, his driver's license showing through the window on the inside. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help taking a peek. He wasn't smiling in the picture, but he wasn't frowning either. He looked...pensive. And incredibly handsome.

Sighing, I went to close it when I caught sight of something smack dab in the middle of the card.

His birthday.

Which was tomorrow.

Blinking rapidly, I verified the date and then quickly memorized his address. Because I couldn't let this go unnoticed. Especially when I was fairly certain he told me he had no plans for the weekend.

I put his wallet back in his pants and went to the living room, where Rose was apparently telling Edward that the wine spilling episode wasn't an isolated incident.

"That's just Bella," she was saying. "You learn to ignore it after a while."

"I don't think I could ever ignore Bella, no matter what she randomly spills on me," he replied. "Maybe next time it'll be tomato sauce. Or ranch dressing. Keeps my day interesting."

"I'm going to get dinner ready," I announced, not wanting to hear any further discussion of my propensity for clumsiness.

"Can I help?" Edward asked. "I could...chop something? Or better yet, stand by encouragingly while you chop something. I like to play to my strengths."

"That's all right," I answered, grabbing my wine and heading toward the kitchen. "There's not much to do. Stay and relax and talk about me and my shortcomings some more."

"Don't worry, Bella," Emmett said. "You just keep cooking like you do and you can spill anything you want on me."

"I'll remember that," I said as I opened the oven door and took out the lamb.

I was grateful for the time to myself, out of the spotlight, so I could breathe easily. Everyone seemed to be getting along, but I felt this pressure in my chest and my shoulders felt tight from the strain. I was probably taking this way too seriously. I poured some more wine and took a big gulp, hoping it would loosen me up. And that I wouldn't spill it.

I tried to ignore the conversation going on in the living room, but that wasn't too difficult a task. When I was cooking, it was as if nothing else existed. I cut up the lamb, then plated the bread, string beans and potatoes. I put everything on the counter in between the kitchen and the living room since with four plates, glasses, and silverware, nothing else would really fit on my little dining table.

"Dinner is served!" I exclaimed from the kitchen. "I wish I had a dinner bell like Mammy in_ Gone with the Wind_, but you'll just have to make do with my classy screaming from the kitchen."

Once we were all seated and began eating, the conversation and the wine flowed easily. Edward remarked kindly about the bottle of wine that Rose and Emmett brought over and he seemed particularly taken with the rosemary bread I baked. Emmett ate with gusto, as usual, and Rose regaled us with tales from the emergency room at Mount Sinai Hospital. She seemed to have warmed a bit to Edward, but that might have been because he laughed at her jokes. Or maybe it was Emmett kicking her under the table. It was difficult to tell.

It was all very civilized and pleasant and...fun. So for all of my worry and anxiety that the night could be a disaster, everyone seemed to get along very well. I tried to keep to myself for most of the meal, afraid that I would say something silly. I loosened up a bit after dessert – a cherry tart with fresh whipped cream – as we sat in the living room talking and polishing off another bottle of wine.

"You were quiet at dinner," Edward observed as he was getting ready to leave at just after midnight. He was wearing his stained pants, which were mostly dry, and carrying the leftover rosemary bread. Rose and Emmett had left just a minute before so we were alone in my foyer.

I shrugged, not wanting to explain that I tried to stay silent for fear of embarrassing myself, because that in and of itself would have been embarrassing. It was a vicious cycle of mortification.

"Did you tell me you didn't have any plans for the rest of the weekend?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Unless working and number crunching is considered plans, then no. Why?"

"No reason," I replied. "Just worried that I kept you out late when maybe you had plans for tomorrow."

"Nope, nothing except work. I have an important meeting on Monday that I need to prepare for."

"Okay," I said, silently formulating a plan for the next day. "Thanks for coming over. I had fun."

"So did I. I'm really glad you asked."

"I promise not to spill anything on you next time."

He looked a little bemused. "Oh...next time?"

"You should make sure your dry cleaner isn't too harsh on your pants," I blurted out in panic. "I hate it when they're harsh on pants. It's not fair to the pants."

"I'll remind him to be careful," Edward replied.

We stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Good," I finally said, nodding. "I care about your pants."

"Me, too." He smiled awkwardly at me. "Goodbye, Bella."

"Bye."

The pant to non-pant ratio in that goodbye was very imbalanced. Even the butterflies in my stomach were cringing. Either that or they had butterflies in their stomachs, too.

Later, as I rooted around in my drawers for a pair of pajamas, I spied the sweatpants Edward had worn, folded neatly on top of my dresser. Mocking me.

I wanted to put them on. Badly. But I didn't want to be weird and stalkerish. So I continued to look around in my drawers, but despite my plethora of fun and cute pajamas, nothing was striking my fancy.

Except the sweatpants. Which Edward wore all night.

The pajama angst too much to take, I grabbed the sweatpants and threw them on, followed by a white t-shirt, and climbed into bed. It was very conscientious of me to wear them to bed, I reasoned. They were already dirty and I would save water by doing less laundry.

Also, parts of Edward had been encased in these pants. Parts that I was never likely to be as close to as I was in this moment. Parts that would likely remain a mystery, but that I suspected might play a starring role in my "alone time" for the foreseeable future.

As a matter of fact, now that I thought about it, the part of the sweats that had been touching him were now touching me. It was almost like sweatpants sex.

Between wondering if the sweatpants missed Edward and liked being close to him as much as I did, and making plans for the following day, it was a long time before I slept.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to SR for betaing and to Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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_**Edward**_

I was eight years old when my grandparents bought me a Fabergé egg for my birthday, baffling both me and my parents. A Fabergé egg was largely useless to most people, especially to a young boy. It didn't light up or make sounds. It didn't stack nicely on top of other eggs in some sort of Lego-inspired building game. Nor did the egg turn into some sort of crime-fighting robot at the press of a button. In fact, there _hadn't been _any buttons on the egg. It just sat there idly in its golden placeholder, which in and of itself had been the most glorified of egg cups.

Imagine my disappointment when, twenty seven years later, it became clear that my parents no longer held the sensibility they once had. Gone were the days when they bought me sensible yet expensive gifts for my birthday; things like telescopes, fine pens, encyclopedias, or state-of-the-art technology. No, yesterday I'd received a cuckoo clock, couriered to my apartment just hours before I had to leave for Bella's dinner. Even the UPS guy had judged my gift, asking me if I wanted to swap the parcel with something else he had in his truck – unsolicited goods that had not been accepted by the intended recipients. Truth be told, I'd considered his offer, wondering if I needed a new set of Reader's Digest compilation CDs or a colorful Mexican poncho that had been sent by someone's stalker ex-girlfriend. After a quick deliberation, I'd refused, signing for my cuckoo clock and immediately bemoaning the loss of my parents' good taste.

Forty minutes later – having unpacked the clock – I'd found myself staring at it with resentment, as if the bird that sprung from the clock's doors was hatched from the very Fabergé egg that had disappointed me so many years previously. After briefly wondering whether it was childish to tape the doors shut with duct tape, I'd attempted to call my parents in Paris in order to thank them. I hadn't been able to get through to them, and soon it was too late in the day to try again.

Perhaps the delay had been a blessing in disguise – while it was supposedly the thought that counted, I frankly doubted much thought had been put into the gift. The fact that it was a Swiss antique did nothing to alleviate my angst. Unlike the Swiss, I felt far from neutral. I was on Team Buy Me a Thoughtful Gift or Don't Buy Me Anything At All, which when shortened to TBMTGDBMAA sounded like the incomprehensible mumbling that would best describe the reaction of receiving such a stupid present.

Luckily not everything about my birthday weekend so far had been bad. My night at Bella's had actually turned out to be the best birthday gift I could ask for. It had been great fun to have dinner with her and her friends. Admittedly, the night had gotten off to a bit of an uncomfortable start – I hadn't been quite sure how to act – but eventually I'd felt more settled. Even Bella spilling wine on my pants had been amusing. I'd ended up getting into her pants, though not with her in them, of course. I hoped I hadn't made anyone too uncomfortable by sporting her sweatpants and my undershirt for awhile there. Really, I should've accepted that poncho from earlier, as that would've had been more festive. That being said, I still would've had to wear pants.

Come to think of it, I'd been dreaming of Bella when I was so rudely woken up by my home phone five minutes ago. Nothing inappropriate, just me quizzing her on her rosemary bread recipe. I was now tempted to stay awake just so I could eat the leftovers I'd taken home last night. Alas, it was just after five in the morning. I'd probably reach for the bread but end up eating an ornamental apple or a scrubbing brush – that was how out of it I was at the moment.

My best guess told me it had been my parents trying to call me back. Unfortunately for them, I mistook the ringing for the annoying chirping of the cuckoo clock. (Since I'd placed it as far as possible from my bedroom, nothing short of an expensive sound system would've amplified the sound. Somehow I doubted it was that diabolical of an antique.) Just when I rolled over and began to drift back to sleep, the phone rang again. Sighing in irritation, I rolled back and reached for the handset.

I decided to make it blatantly obvious that this was a bad time, putting on an even groggier voice when I answered with a "hello."

"Bonjour, bonjour, bonjour, mon fils," my mother chimed, seemingly oblivious to my sleepy state. "Bonne fête à toi."

I sighed heavily, hoping she didn't expect me to respond in French. The language part of my brain was still in hibernation-mode. Even my ability to speak Pig Latin was in a suspended state.

"Mother, it's five o'clock in the morning here," I complained with a yawn.

She gasped rather dramatically, as if I'd just given her the fright of her life. "Oh! _Oh_. Je suis desolé!"

"Yeah."

She didn't immediately reply, which made me think she was offended by my unrefined response.

"Oh, it's difficult to keep track of what time zone I'm in, darling. I have a lot of things to think about," she finally said. "I'm _terribly _sorry."

"Hmmm." I tried to roll my eyes, but then realized I'd closed them. It was an incredibly strange sensation which made me feel kind of sick.

"_Dah_-ling, don't be so upset. I sent you a beautiful clock from me and your father," she drawled. "You _did _receive it, did you not? That's _why _you called? God forbid you check in with us for any other reason."

"Yes, mother, that's why I called. And there's no need for the guilt trip. You know I'm very busy."

"Yes, yes. My Edward – always very busy," she said proudly. "Should I sing Happy Birthday to you, my dear?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

"Well, _of course_ it's not necessary. You won't _die _if I don't sing it. But it would be _nice_."

"Nice if I died?" I asked morbidly.

She laughed. At least one of us was amused. "Nice if I _sang_."

Everyone who knew my mother was painfully aware that she emphasized her words a little too often. A transcript of her words wouldn't make sense without italics. In fact, she tended to introduce herself as _Elizabeth_. Worth emphasizing, she always said.

"Mother, really. There's no need for that. Thank you for the clock."

Ignoring my protests, she began to sing to me.

Badly.

Oh, no._ Ixnay _on the birthday.

"Mother," I interjected. "It's okay. We're both too old for this."

"Speak for yourself," she said with sass. "I'll have you know I look _twenty _years younger than I _actually _am. You should see how many gentlemen are staring at me right now. Trust me, they're not eyeing my croissants. I _do _hope your father gets back soon." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He just went to complain about the champagne."

"Well, I should let you get back to your brunch," I said, sensing an opportunity to end the call on good terms. "Please pass on my thanks to Dad."

"Ah, yes, I will." She already sounded distracted. "Do call again sometime soon."

"Yes, I'll try."

"Au revoir!"

I rolled over and tried to get comfortable again. Birthdays were just like Fabergé eggs: expensive and overrated. It was better not to pay them much attention.

Eventually, I drifted back to sleep, thoughts of last night's dinner making me happy once again.

When I awoke at the much more reasonable hour of eight, I promptly got up to fetch myself some breakfast. I heated up some of Bella's rosemary bread, the delicious scent filling up my sizeable kitchen. Sitting lazily at the counter, I groaned on realizing how much work I had to do today. _Be careful what you wish for_, I thought. _Now this really will be like any other Sunday._

My parents knew I was a busy person. That was at least half the reason they hardly ever called me. I didn't see how the onus was always on _me _to contact _them _– I wasn't the one resort-hopping all over Europe. If I had a world map like Whitlock's, the continent would have more holes than a standard piece of tax legislation.

It occurred to me that I'd never been this mad at my grandparents for any of the gifts _they'd _given. It was probably because they'd genuinely thought they were doing something "cool" and "hip," one-upping all the other rich people around here. Not only that, but I'd always felt the love behind the gifts, the fondness that had compelled my grandma to kiss my cheeks to the point where she'd needed a new tube of Chap Stick. Grandpa would sit with me and excitedly explain why everyone would be jealous of my gift, then he too would run to the table when Grandma finally served her chicken pot pie. I'd had chicken pot pie at a friend's place and I'd liked it so much that my Grandma learned how to make it, and it became a birthday tradition for her to make it for me well into my teen years. I certainly missed those days. Over the years, my parents' enthusiasm for birthdays had diminished. I couldn't even recall the last time I'd enjoyed a homemade birthday cake.

Nothing about that would change today – I didn't have time to bake myself a cake.

After breakfast, I retired to my study and started tackling the mountain of work I had to do. It wasn't quite Everest, but it was getting there. I suspected it would be harder to breathe the higher I climbed, the sheer altitude making me sick. Well, that was going to be my excuse for when I needed a break from all the accounting. I could hardly be expected to count without a proper supply of oxygen.

I worked steadily until one in the afternoon, the only interruptions being a quick birthday call from Carlisle, and another courtesy call from American Express. Hungry, I quickly ducked into the kitchen to heat some leftover soup. It was then that I heard the faint chirping of the cuckoo clock. First, I thought it was a delusion, but the closer I walked to my library, the more certain I was that the clock was sounding. It made no sense whatsoever. One cuckoo was sufficient to signal that it was one o'clock. Any reiteration of the fact it was one o'clock would mistake anyone nearby into thinking it was in fact two or three o'clock. Positively aggravated, I flung open the doors to my library, convinced that the attention seeking antique had, well, gone cuckoo.

It seemed the problem was that the clock was running one hour behind current New York City time, hence why it had presumably chirped twelve times. I must not have noticed this yesterday, as I'd been too annoyed to really pay attention to the clock face. Grumbling to myself, I left the clock on the table in the library and trudged back to the kitchen, where I quickly ate some soup. Unfortunately, the fact that I'd burned my tongue on the too-hot soup only made my mood worse. On returning to my desk, I ignored another "Where in the world is Alice Cullen-Whitlock?" email from Whitlock and got back to work.

When the doorbell rang at around three – two if you were a stupid Swiss antique – I was very reluctant to get up to answer the door. I hadn't buzzed anyone up, so it was likely one of my neighbors asking for a cup of sugar or a multi-million dollar loan. It was only when the doorbell rang the second time that I bothered to leave the study. I didn't bother looking through the peephole to see who it was, for fear the UPS guy was back with a second package, having been paid extra by my parents to deliver on a non-mail day.

However, when I opened the door, there was no mail in sight. In fact, there was no _male _in sight either.

It was Bella.

"Bella?"

I wasn't sure what compelled me to say that when I obviously knew it was her. Perhaps switching from numbers to words was a bit of a shock to the system. I knew Bella's employee number from when I visited HR, so I suppose I should've been glad I hadn't come out with "817640."

She smiled awkwardly. "Um, yeah. Hi."

"You're at my door," I said, somewhat stupidly. "It's like reverse déjà vu. Because you've surprised _me _this time. And I'm actually wearing underwear."

_Dear Brain, please regain the power of speech. Bella may work in IT, but I don't think communicating in binary will do._

Bella blushed a little. "Oh. That's nice. For you. Nice that you have underwear." She cleared her throat and awkwardly shifted a huge picnic basket I just noticed she was holding. "Am I interrupting you? I'm sorry."

"I was working. And you have a picnic basket." Wait, that wasn't a question. "_Why _do you have a picnic basket? How did you know where I lived? And how did you break into the building?"

"Um, I bribed the doorman with cake," she quickly replied. "Are you mad at me? You sound mad."

I shook my head. "I'm so sorry," I apologized in a softer tone. "I didn't mean to sound so accusatory. I'm having a bad day, which is not an excuse, I know. Is there cake in that basket? Not that I'm excited for cake and not excited to see _you_. Though, you _are _holding a cake. Or potentially holding one – I'm not sure how much cake you gave to the doorman. He might have asked for the entire thing. There are a lot of important people living in this building. Not that I'm saying I'm important. I'm not unimportant either, however –"

She smiled widely. "You're rambling."

I chuckled. "You haven't answered my cake question."

"You haven't let me in," she countered.

"Precedent suggests you might have to bribe me," I joked.

"The cake is for _you_," she said, exasperated but amused. "It's a birthday cake."

"Birthday cake? You know it's my birthday?"

"I can explain. See, when I was handling your pants last night...Rubbing them, I mean...The _stain_. I was rubbing the stain. The stain caused by the wine," she explained, clearly flustered. "I'm sorry, where was I?" She blinked several times. "Your wallet fell out. I picked it up, because you'd need it, you see. And I saw your license."

"Oh, which had my birth date on it!" I surmised, catching on. "And my address."

She nodded, smiling again. "May I please come in? I know this is reverse déjà vu, but I'd like to come in. This basket is heavy."

"Here, let me take that for you," I offered, embarrassed I hadn't already done so. I took the basket from her and ushered her inside, closing the door behind us. "Sorry about that. I'm not used to visitors."

Bella suddenly stopped in the middle of my foyer. I almost bowled her over, which would've been very awkward, and definitely not good for the picnic basket.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"It's just so _big_," she remarked. "Your apartment, I mean. Not that I would be referring to anything else."

"It _is _quite a sizeable place. My realtor probably thought I was claustrophobic or something."

I felt a bit awkward when I remembered how modest her apartment was, but since my memories of her place were good ones, the guilty feeling dissipated.

"Let me show you my kitchen," I proposed, leading the way.

"Sure, if we don't get lost on the way," she said, looking around in awe. "Do we have flares if we get lost?"

"I think that might be a violation of the fire code."

She laughed. I was very glad to hear her laugh. In fact, I was very glad that she'd come to visit, and wondered if it had been remiss of me to not invite her over myself. After all, we were friends, and I'd been to her place twice already.

Bella stopped in her tracks when we reached the kitchen. I remained silent as she slowly approached the counter, as if it were a wild animal she didn't want to disturb. Then she stepped around and inspected the oven, the stove, the appliances that I'd left out on the countertop. Seemingly upset, she looked at me and frowned.

"You don't like my kitchen?" I guessed, stepping forward to set the basket down on the island.

She gaped at me. "It's bigger than my apartment. And some restaurant kitchens. Can I move in?"

"Sure," I said lightly, playing along. "You can be my kitchen-sitter. I wouldn't want anyone else touching my...whatever model that oven is."

She ran her hand over the marble countertop before looking at the oven. "This looks practically unused. So either this amazing kitchen is going to waste, or you have a top notch cleaning service."

"A little from column A, and a little from column B. Column AB, if you will."

The sight of Bella in my kitchen made me feel a little strange. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It certainly wasn't a feeling of "yes, women belong in the kitchen," nor was it an urge to fire my cleaning lady so that Bella would be compelled to visit me to keep my kitchen in order. No, I didn't want to put her to work. I suppose I was just nervous about having her in my home. It was nice, though, to have her here. I was getting a bit giddy.

"So this is how the other half lives," Bella noted. "Well, whatever fraction the Upper East Side accounts for."

"Approximately twelve percent, or something like that."

"Trust the numbers man to know."

Eager to find out what was in the basket, I tried to lift the lid. However, Bella promptly slapped my hand away, as if I were a naughty child who'd been caught trying to steal from the cookie jar.

_I wonder if there are any cookies in the basket._

"No! Bad CFO," she scolded.

"But it's my birthday," I reasoned, pouting at her. I couldn't quite remember the last time I'd tried to pout at someone, but memory told me puppy-dog eyes often worked on people, too.

Bella replied before I could use the eye technique. "Want to see what's in the basket?" she teased.

I rubbed my hands together. "Yes, please!"

I sidled up closer to her as she opened the basket and produced what I assumed was a cake container.

"It's a complete cake," she explained. "But you need to take a piece down to the doorman later. Or I can do it on my way out. I promised."

A warm feeling spread through my chest. I was very touched by her thoughtfulness. We hadn't known each other that long, yet she'd gifted me so much more than my parents had this weekend. First, it was her company. Now I was being treated to a surprise visit, complete with cake. I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve such a kind friend, but I sure hoped we'd continue our newfound friendship. Most of the time I tried not to dwell on the lack of company in my life – perhaps it was time to dwell on something new. Sure, it was unwise to obsess over Bella, but I could at least take the time to appreciate her presence and thank her properly. I promised myself that by the time she left today, she would know that she'd made my weekend.

"Are you ready for the reveal?" she asked, building the anticipation.

"I am indeed," I replied enthusiastically.

"Well too bad, you have to wait until after dinner like a good boy."

"Oh. Did you want me to make dinner? I'm sure I can forage for something, though it might be better if I take you out. Or perhaps we could order in. I have a very well-organized library of take-out menus; divided by region and then alphabetized. Since it's my birthday, we could go nuts. Or not. Something simple might be better. Maybe just traces of nuts –"

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing it again."

"Sorry."

"I brought something for dinner. I'll just need to use your awesome, immaculately clean oven."

"I'm feeling very spoiled right now. I actually ate your rosemary bread for breakfast."

"Funny you should mention that, because the rosemary is the special ingredient...for this." She pulled out a round, foil covered pan and placed it on the counter.

When she lifted the foil, I was dazed. Was this really happening? Or was it a hallucination brought on by altitude sickness?

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Chicken pot pie," she declared, beaming at me.

I grinned. "I think I love you."

She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. "Oh, come on, now. You haven't tasted it yet."

"I need a fork!"

I was spinning around my kitchen like a spinning top, which incidentally was what my grandparents had given me for my third birthday.

Bella chuckled at my excitement. "I need to cook it first. Oven, remember? Plus, there's a salad I need to make."

"Aw, you mean I have to wait?"

"Shoo!" she said, waving me off. "Occupy yourself for a little while. Weren't you working when I got here? Go add some numbers or something. Even better, find some money in the budget to give me a raise."

"But I'm the one who knows where everything is," I pointed out.

"I think I can find my way around a kitchen, Mr. Masen," she chided.

"All right, send up a flare if you get lost," I agreed, happy she wasn't just delivering the food and leaving.

A birthday meal. There was no way I was going to be able to concentrate on my reports _now_. Perhaps it was time to read Whitlock's email.

After reading Whitlock's email – Alice was now somewhere in Egypt – and sifting through a few reports from Marketing, I became thoroughly distracted by the delicious smells wafting in from the kitchen. In addition, I could also hear Bella clattering around. Since I really wasn't used to hearing the sounds of someone else being in my apartment, it was especially difficult to think of anything else.

Eventually, I gave up and decided to see if Bella needed any help at all. I stood just outside, watching Bella move around with a practiced ease that I thought would have made me uncomfortable. But I actually felt the exact opposite. I _liked _her in my space. Probably more than I should. "Can I help?" I asked, walking into the kitchen.

"It's almost ready," she said, looking over at me and smiling. "Where should we eat?"

I stood there staring at her like an idiot for a second before I realized I hadn't bothered to give her a tour of my apartment. She came in and started cooking like she was the help. Birthday or not, my behavior was unbecoming.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, my stomach in knots. "I've been so rude. Can I give you a tour of my apartment?"

"You weren't rude. I was the one who showed up unannounced and took over your kitchen. For all you know, I've already put in a permit application to use this kitchen for my new catering company."

I shook my head, still embarrassed. "No, I've been rude. Please, let me make up for it. How much time before dinner's ready?"

She turned around and looked at the oven, which was performing some sort of count down. "Fourteen minutes, give or take. Think we can get through this cavernous apartment that quickly?"

"I guarantee it."

I was struck by the urge to take her by the hand and skip around the apartment. Obviously, I refrained, not wanting to embarrass us both. Instead, I showed her around, telling what I hoped were interesting anecdotes about each room or area. Bella seemed to enjoy herself, asking me questions when I wasn't rambling. She especially liked my library, though perhaps she wouldn't have liked it so much if I'd shown her the stupid cuckoo clock. By the time we got back to the kitchen, we both seemed to be a bit more relaxed. While Bella took care of the food, I set the table in the dining room and grabbed a bottle of wine. We were in sync then, like we'd been dining together for years.

The dining table actually seated eight, so I'd set places opposite each other on one end. I didn't want to sit at the head of the table like I was the CEO of early dinnertime. Bella brought in the food, which looked and smelled divine, and soon we were seated.

"Happy Birthday," Bella declared, taking it upon herself to serve my meal for me.

"Thank you so much," I replied, pouring her some wine "Really, this is fantastic."

"Taste the chicken pot pie first," she advised. "I want to see if you like it before you try the salad."

"You mean I can't have cake with my pie?" I joked.

She rolled her eyes. "_Edward_."

"Yes, yes." I picked up my fork. "Here we go..."

I could've cried when I tasted the pie. Cried like a child who missed his grandparents. Bella had done it. I wasn't sure how she'd known that the rosemary was so important to the recipe, but she'd done it. She'd recreated the magic of my grandmother's chicken pot pie. If I closed my eyes and imagined it, I could probably fool myself into thinking I was eight years old. I'd be in my childhood home – a penthouse on Fifth Avenue – with my parents and grandparents. Grandpa would still be talking about the egg. My mother would be patting my arm, silently reassuring me that she and dad had better, more enjoyable gifts than that. Father would keep changing his mind about the wine, driving our butler slightly mad. It was a scene that was bittersweet for me: that true sense of family mixed in with the loss of something I once had. There was a reason chicken pot pie was comfort food. This really meant something to me.

"Is it okay?" Bella asked tentatively, probably nervous that I hadn't said anything yet.

"It's perfect," I said gently, nodding. I was so overwhelmed that it took me another moment to emphasize my point. "It's absolutely perfect. Did you secretly know my grandma? Because this is really something."

She broke out into a grin. "I'm so glad you like it."

"Perhaps my grandma haunted you this morning and guided you in the right direction. Either that, or you really are a culinary genius." I winked.

"In deference to your late grandmother, why don't we say it was a little from column A and a little from column B?"

I quickly shoved another forkful of pie into my mouth. It was so, so delicious. I groaned in satisfaction. "I'd say _I think I love you_, but I've already said that today. I hope _this is the best birthday I've had in a very long time_ will suffice."

She blushed, but I knew she was flattered.

"Why did you do this?" I asked before I could stop myself. Her blush deepened and she looked down, making me realize how that must have sounded, so I rushed to fix my mistake. "That came out wrong. What I meant was...this is just a really nice thing for you to do. Can you tell me what I did to deserve it, so I can keep doing it?"

"I don't know. Why did you check on me when I was sick and stock my house with enough food to feed a small nation?" she asked, looking up again.

"Because I wanted to do something nice for you."

"There you go. You told me you had no plans for the weekend, I happened upon your wallet and your birthday..." She shrugged. "I wanted to do something nice for you, too."

Great food and great company, something every special occasion should have. On more than one occasion, I had to be mindful that I was in the presence of a lady – devouring the pot pie like an anaconda devoured its prey would've been very rude of me. The salad was also something I would've paid top dollar for at Michelin starred restaurant.

"Are you ready for cake?" Bella asked once we were done with the main meal. "It's red velvet."

"I was born ready. I should've been named Red Velvet, though I suppose 'Edward' is a bit more dignified."

"Well, I hope that's your name. Otherwise this could get awkward."

I followed Bella back into the kitchen, where she lifted the top off the container. I had to fight the urge to jump up and down like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. She'd piped the words "Happy Birthday Edward" on the frosting.

"Wow," was all I could manage.

Really, being this awestruck was perhaps making me look a little slow. I didn't want Bella thinking I was slow.

"I have candles, too," she said, producing a packet of swirly candles from the basket. "But I won't sing to you. I'm sorry, but it's as much for your benefit as mine. No one needs to bleed from the ears, especially on their birthday."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied with a laugh.

I found a lighter, which Bella promptly took from me. She put the candles in and lit them.

"You have to make a wish."

"I want every birthday to be this happy," I announced.

"You're not supposed to say it out loud, remember? Otherwise it won't come true."

I shrugged sheepishly. "But _you're_ here, so now you know I want the exact same next year. That was sneaky of me, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes, but I'll let it slide," she said in good humor. She nudged me and nodded at the candles. "Go on, blow them out."

I blew out all the candles on the first go. I then insisted on serving the cake, since Bella had been so kind to make it. I made sure to eat the part that had "Happy" written on it, because that was exactly how I felt right now.

"Best cake I've ever had," I told Bella as we cleaned up. I waited until she looked at me in the eye before continuing. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. You really have made this a great weekend – please know that I appreciate it."

"Really, Edward, you need to stop thanking me. It was nothing," she said modestly.

It was so far from nothing that I almost launched into a long-winded explanation of my thoughts. However, I thought it best not to bore her. Or scare her. Perhaps a thank you card later in the week wouldn't be remiss.

After all of Bella's plates were dried and put back in her basket, she picked it up and smiled shyly at me. "I guess I should be going. You must have some work to do."

"No!" I blurted out. "I mean, yes, I have work to do, but you don't have to leave. Unless you want to. I'm not trying to force you to stay. That would be illegal. I wouldn't survive long in prison. I'm too pretty. I really liked _The Shawshank Redemption_, but trust me, I would _not _have the guts to stage a jailbreak."

"Edward?"

"I know, I'm rambling again. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm having a really nice afternoon and I'm not ready for it to end," I said honestly.

"I'm not in a rush to go anywhere, I just didn't want to impose," she said, putting the basket back down on the counter, much to my relief.

"You could hang out in my library and take a closer look at some of those first editions I mentioned. It shouldn't take me long to finish up my work. Then maybe we could watch a movie," I suggested hopefully.

"That sounds nice," she said, smiling sweetly at me.

We went our respective ways. I was in the middle of balancing a spreadsheet when I heard Bella's startled scream from the library. I rushed to the scene to find her looking horrified. Then I saw that the cuckoo clock was lying on the floor, several parts of it having broken off, the bird included.

"I'm so, so sorry," Bella apologized, clearly feeling panicked. "It frightened me! I was sitting in a chair reading, and then the bird popped out and started cuckoo-ing. Is that a word? Cuckoo-ing? I struck it. I mean, I know it wasn't trying to attack me. It really was a reflex reaction. I don't know how expensive it was, but I can work off the debt by cooking for you every day. It can be like meals on wheels, except you're not old. I'm not saying thirty-five is old. It's not."

"Bella, relax," I said, coming over and putting my hand on her back to console her. We both looked down at the clock. "I hate this clock. Honestly, you did me a favor."

"Oh, but you didn't break anything when you came to _my _place," she reasoned. "You can break my clock if you want. Then we'll be even. And probably late, too."

"Don't be silly." I had the strongest urge to wrap her up in my arms and tell her it was okay. I even thought about kissing her, even though that thought was quickly suppressed. Shocked, I scrambled to say something to else. "Just pick a movie that won't send me to sleep this time. _Then _we'll be even."

Bella looked at me with a strange expression on her face. Then I realized I was probably embarrassing her by rubbing her back so fondly. I quickly withdrew my hand and pretended nothing had happened.

"Yes, we'll watch a different movie," Bella said awkwardly.

I nodded. "Yeah..."

Whatever the movie, one thing was clear in my mind: it was best if we didn't watch anything romantic. Bella was my _friend_. Perhaps I was feeling amorous towards her because she'd done so much for me lately. Whatever it was, I had to keep myself in check, otherwise I'd get myself into a lot of trouble. There would be no get-out-of-jail-free card with Carlisle – rules were rules. No fraternizing with other employees.

Bella really was wonderful. Now I couldn't help but think it was a shame we could only be friends.

Maybe I should've wished for something else.

Something _more_.

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**Thank you to everyone who continues to read, review, and rec our story. **

**Sorry again about review replies, but real life for both of us has taken a turn for the incredibly busy. Please know that we read and appreciate each one.**

**We'll be writing a DMM outtake for Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness. Not sure what it'll be yet, but we're bandying about a few ideas. It'll be exclusive to that compilation though, so please take the time to donate if you're interested. It's a truly worthy cause. Visit the website for details: http: / fandom4saa . wordpress . com/**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com, as will the recipes from this chapter, and a picture of Edward's birthday cake.**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to SR for betaing and to Lucette212 for pre-reading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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_**Bella**_

When I was eleven years old, I found an old transistor radio in the basement. I plugged it in to verify that it worked, and after asking my father if I could have it, I took it out to the garage and started taking it apart. After I was finished, I rode my bike to the library and checked out a book on radio repair. Over the next few days, I carefully labeled each piece and then methodically put it back together.

But I had six pieces left over. So I tried again.

My father would periodically come into the garage and ask me if I needed help and to bring me lemonade, but I always refused (The offer of help, not the lemonade. Lemonade is delicious and I would have been foolish to refuse its refreshing goodness).

The next time I tried, I had two pieces left over. So I tried again.

Finally, on the third attempt, I successfully found a place for every piece.

It was with an enormous sense of pride that I plugged it back in and was greeted with static. I spun the dial and stopped when the soft sounds of classical piano filled the garage.

It worked!

I looked over at my father, who was watching from the doorway, satisfaction written all over his face. "Great job, kiddo," he said, coming over and kissing me on the top of my head. His obvious pride made me feel better than I already did.

That was the first indication I had that I was mechanically inclined, and it was something my father and mother fostered in me every chance they had. I took apart and successfully repaired our VCR when the tapes were being eaten and unraveling, I replaced the motor in our electric can opener to get it working again, but I was unfortunately unsuccessful at repairing my DiscMan (Mom and Dad bought me a new one that Christmas).

I fixed our family computer for the first time when I was thirteen, even though my mother stood above me, worried that I would make it worse, thereby increasing the ultimate repair cost.

"I don't know, Charlie. Maybe we should take it to that repair shop in town," I heard her whisper to my father.

"Let her be, Renee," my father murmured.

I knew it wasn't a lack of faith on my mother's part that made her doubt me, she was just a worrier by nature, especially about money. She wasn't making much money as an Adjunct Professor and Dad was on disability, so money was usually tight.

When I turned the computer on two hours later and it worked, she never doubted me again.

So when the money my parents left me was dwindling and I was literally two months from being homeless for lack of a job, I fell back on my mechanical aptitude and applied for a job at Cullen, Inc. Emmett told me he had a friend, who had a friend, who had a cousin, whose hairdresser had a fiancé, who had an acquaintance, who worked at Cullen, Inc. That person turned out to be Jacob Black, who hired me on the spot after a ten minute interview.

Jake was nice at first, if a little clingy and slightly creepy. He stared at me a lot and asked me out constantly, which I knew was inappropriate since he was my supervisor, but I didn't want to rock the boat too much and he seemed harmless enough. I claimed to have a boyfriend, to be a lesbian, and to have a virulent form of syphilis (not necessarily in that order), but still he refused to give up.

The thing was, Jake didn't seem like a bad guy. Yes, his breath smelled like something crawled in his mouth and died, and sure, he needed to use more deodorant and less cologne, and yeah, he had no concept of personal space, but that didn't make him evil. He was more annoying than anything else, like a relentless fly at a picnic.

I'm not _exactly_ sure when things in our relationship took a turn for the worse, but it might have had something to do with the day I called him "mouth-breather" to his face by accident. Or it could have been the day I left the breath mints on his desk. But most likely, it was a result of the infamous Tuna Sandwich Incident.

I was eating lunch at my desk, as was my habit, when he decided to "join" me. And by that I mean he rolled his chair over, plopped his stinky tuna fish sandwich and can of Coke on my desk, and started babbling to me about the project Carlisle Cullen himself had given him to do. I barely heard what he said, distracted as I was by the powerful odor of tuna and the sight of him eating it. It was on white bread, and the mayo was leaking through the bread, making it so mushy that it came off on his fingers, which he licked off with his big fat tongue. Not only that, but he didn't stop talking the whole time he was eating, which meant I had to see the already disgusting tuna chewed up in his mouth.

I abandoned my peanut butter and jelly sandwich after only two bites and just sat there, nodding occasionally and "mm-hm"ing in what I thought were the right places. Then, as he was gesticulating wildly with his arms, complaining about Mr. Cullen's insistence on using a Mac as opposed to a PC, a piece of food came flying out of his mouth and landed right on my pb & j.

The mere thought of the possibility that I might have somehow missed this and eaten my sandwich unaware of what lay on it made my stomach roll. I put my hand over my mouth and willed the vomit back down. But then he opened his mouth, and the stink of tuna wafting over to me coupled with the sight of more chewed up sandwich in his mouth sent me over the edge.

I took my hand away and vomited all over the desk, his lap, and his tuna with mayo on white bread. Which was really only fair since he'd ruined my lunch. I was simply returning the favor.

His face became red and blotchy as he sat there looking at me, then at his lap, then at his ruined lunch. He silently rose from his chair and left the room, I assumed heading to the men's room. I changed my clothes (silently thanking God for my terror at the possibility of peeing in front of the powerful and good-looking, Carlisle Cullen to be specific, or I wouldn't have had the change of clothes) and called maintenance to come clean up the office. I apologized to Jake when he came back a few minutes later, but he just nodded his head and resumed his work without speaking to me.

It took me a few minutes to realize that he hadn't changed. He spent the rest of the day in the clothes I'd vomited on. By the end of the day, I was longing for the less pungent odor of his tuna sandwich.

I guess I was the only one who kept a spare outfit in her desk. Still, I would have forsaken my pay for the afternoon rather than sit in vomit tainted clothing. Though maybe I'm just too particular.

From then on, he basically treated me like I was a second class citizen. There were other employees in IT, but they seemed to follow his lead, or they were scared of him, so while not necessarily shunning me, they weren't overly friendly either. I tried to not let it get to me – I was used to spending time on my own and I told myself the lack of companionship at work actually helped me avoid saying anything too embarrassing.

So my job was lonely and miserable until that fateful day when I emailed the CFO about his Internet usage. For once, one of my silly mistakes was actually turning into something positive. Edward and I were becoming fast friends, exchanging emails almost daily and spending some time together out of the office. We had coffee at the Dean & DeLuca by my apartment last Sunday, and were meeting again today. We met early, at around eight, because Edward usually spent a good deal of the day on Sunday working, but it was a nice relaxing couple of hours. I got there first so I ordered our coffees and bought a copy of the _Times_, perusing the _Food_ section once our coffees came.

"Please tell me there's a recipe in there you like and you need a guinea pig," Edward said, sitting down across from me, a sweet smile on his face. Edward in an Armani suit was something to look at, but Edward in worn blue jeans and a white linen button down with the sleeves rolled up was a revelation.

His stunning good-looks never ceased to amaze me, and as silly and girlish as it was, my stomach did this weird flip-floppy thing every time I saw him. But he had charmed his way into my life before I knew what he looked like, so I suspected that I would have been excited to see him regardless. Though him being easy on the eyes certainly didn't hurt.

"No such luck, Mr. Masen. Guinea pig would taste gross and I would probably make children cry if I cooked it," I replied, putting my paper aside. "I was reading about the boon in local food restaurants in the city."

"Is that something that interests you?" he asked, taking a sip of his still steaming coffee.

"Sure. It's healthier and better for the earth to eat locally and from organic farms. But the cost can be prohibitive, especially since there aren't many farms here in the city and everything has to be shipped in. There were quite a few farms where I grew up and a huge farmer's market from spring to fall."

He eyed me for a minute before he grabbed more cream and poured it in his coffee. "Where did you grow up?"

"Oh," I said, surprised that it hadn't come up yet. "I was born in Baltimore. Then when I was twelve, my mom was hired as an Assistant Professor of English Lit at the University of Washington, so we packed up and moved to Seattle."

"Do you miss home?" he asked, all of his attention focused on me, as if I were about to say something news-worthy like "I'm the decider" or "The Internet is a series of tubes!"

"There's not much to miss," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Seattle was never really home." I should have stopped this line of questioning, because I knew what would come next. But I didn't, and he asked the next logical question.

"Do your parents still live there?"

"No." I shook my head and looked down. After I took a deep breath I gave him the information he was looking for. "They died while I was in college."

I didn't look at him because I didn't want to see the expression of pity I always received when people found out my parents were dead. I hated that look.

"Hey," he said quietly.

I lifted my head when soft fingers lightly touched the back of my hand, bracing for the look of sympathy and the hollow words that were sure to follow. But shockingly, I didn't see pity when I gazed at him. His expression was soft with something I couldn't really identify, but that I wanted to see more of.

"Do you have any other family? Siblings or aunts and uncles?" he asked, his fingertips brushing the back of my hand, making me shiver.

"No, not that I know of." I rested my chin in my other hand, my elbow on the table. "Rose and Emmett are really all I have."

"And me," he said softly, his eyes taking on an intensity that made my stomach knot and my face flush. Sometimes being with him was so easy, and sometimes, like now, it seemed like there was something simmering right under the surface. Something that neither one of us acknowledged.

"Oh, I'm totally planning on keeping you around," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "But mostly for your kitchen and the door to door service." When I had gone over to Edward's on his birthday, he'd insisted on calling a car to take me home. We never did wind up watching a movie; Edward opened another bottle of wine and we'd started talking and the next time I looked up, it was past one o'clock in the morning. When I announced that I was going to take the subway, Edward was absolutely horrified, especially when he learned I carried the picnic basket on the subway to his apartment earlier in the day. He wouldn't let me leave until his driver arrived, and he'd even walked me downstairs and made sure I got into the car, perhaps fearing that I would run screaming into the night toward the subway station, knocking over old ladies and kicking puppies on my way.

His lifestyle took some getting used to, and it made me decidedly uncomfortable.

"You can cook in my kitchen anytime," he said, winking at me and smiling before pulling his hand away smoothly.

"I'll stick with mine for now, but I reserve the right to take you up on that at a moment's notice."

"I'm a busy man, I might need more than a moment."

"How about if I promise to leave you some of whatever I cook?" I offered.

"Deal," he said almost immediately. "I'll even give you a key if you guarantee I'll have a home cooked meal waiting for me at the end of the day." There was something wistful in his tone that made me inexplicably sad. I cleared my throat and tried to sound upbeat.

"Will I have to keep bribing the doorman? That's going to cut into your haul."

"I'll have him taken care of, don't worry. He's on borrowed time as it is for taking a piece of my birthday cake."

"Did you really eat the whole thing?"

"I did," he said proudly.

"You'd better be careful, you're not young anymore. It'll go right to your hips," I joked. I'd woken up with that body wrapped around mine and there wasn't a flabby thing about it, but I enjoyed the self-conscious look he gave me nonetheless.

"Really?" he asked, running his hands across his shirt and down to his hips.

I laughed and shook my head, amazed that someone like him would even care what I thought about how he looked.

He threw a balled up napkin at me and laughed a little, smiling at me and making me feel really, really happy. Happier than I had felt in a long time.

"What's on the menu for later?"

Edward was coming over for the Fourth, along with Rose and Emmett. We made plans to watch the Macy's fireworks from the roof of my building, and I was cooking, of course. "It's a surprise," I said mischievously. There was nothing I liked more than seeing people enjoy my food and I was really excited about the menu.

"It's not chicken pot pie is it?" he asked hopefully, his eyes sparkling.

"You shouldn't have eaten the leftovers from your birthday so quickly or you would still have some," I scolded.

"But it was so good," he practically whined.

"Oh, all right. I'll make it again. But not today, I have other plans."

"Thanks, Bella," he said genuinely. I blushed and handed him the _Week in Review_ before picking up the _Food _section again, but it took me a while to be able to concentrate on the words.

We sat in companionable silence for a while longer, reading the paper and drinking our coffee, until a little after ten o'clock when Edward announced that he had to head home and get to work. "Don't you ever take a day off?" I asked as he drank the last of his coffee.

"I like my work," he said, shrugging his shoulders and putting his empty cup down. "It's important to me. I have goals that I've been working toward for a long time and they're about to come to fruition."

"I understand having goals, but you must have other things in your life that make you happy. Don't you have an expensive hobby like flying or mountain climbing?"

"I really don't. I work and I go to the gym but other than that..." He shrugged again, a small, sad smile on his lips.

It was so strange to me. He was young, good-looking, successful, and wealthy, he should have had people knocking down his door to spend time with him and he worked so hard doing a job he apparently didn't need.

"Why not buy your own company?" I asked. "Or retire young and lead a life of leisure?"

He looked pensive for a moment before he answered. "I've been given just about everything in my life, all because of the accident of birth. My success in business is something I've worked for and accomplished on my own. That's why I take it so seriously."

"Well, I'm glad you make time for me."

"I'm getting used to having you around," he said, smiling at me and getting up. "I'll see you tonight. Around six?"

"Yep."

"Okay, until later then," he said, standing there awkwardly. It was a strange thing sometimes, saying goodbye to him. For as intimate as some of our conversation tended to be, we rarely touched and didn't greet each other with kisses or hugs. Aside from the time I threw myself at him when he came to my house, of course.

I gathered the paper and stood with him, wanting to ease his discomfort.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he asked after we exited the cafe. "There are all sorts of weirdoes around who might kidnap you and make you cook for them."

"I'll be fine. But if I don't show up for work on Tuesday, send in the National Guard. Or you could show up flashing your badge at my door again," I said, turning from him with a wave. I heard him laughing as I walked away.

I took all of the good cheer that I gained from my morning with Edward and poured it into preparing the food for my little gathering. I made all of the most American foods I could think of, with my own gourmet twist; macaroni and cheese, pigs in a blanket with little American flag toothpicks in them, grilled cheese sandwiches cut into the shapes of stars, buffalo chicken wings with homemade blue cheese dressing, and a chicken pot pie that I wouldn't serve. That was for Edward to take home. I even attached a little card with instructions on how to heat it properly.

When my cell rang at five-thirty with Edward's name on the caller ID, I picked it up almost immediately. "Hey," I answered happily. "I hope you're hungry."

"Hey, Bella," he said distractedly. "Listen, I can't make tonight, something came up – no, I said six copies – sorry for the short notice."

"Oh," I said, disappointed to the point that my throat felt a little tight. "Maybe you could come later, we'll be he –"

"I doubt it. I'm going to be here for a while."

"Okay, well –"

"I'm sorry, Bella. I have to go," he said, his voice short and his tone clipped. The call disconnected and I stared at the phone as if doing so would somehow change what had just happened. I finally put the phone down and I sat down on my couch, my limbs feeling weak. I told myself not to cry, that it was just one friend canceling on another and that it happened all the time. But that wasn't what this felt like at all.

* * *

**We took a few liberties with the SoHo Dean & DeLuca location. Let's just call it creative license.**

**Thank you to everyone who continues to read, review, and rec our story. Thanks to everyone who voted DMM one of the fics of the week at The Lemonade Stand, and especially to LaMomo for her lovely review.**

**Sorry again about review replies, still really busy. Please know that we read and appreciate each one. We're still planning on updating every two weeks though, so we hope that'll be satisfactory.**

**We'll be writing a DMM outtake for Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness/ Not sure what it'll be yet, but we're bandying about a few ideas. It'll be exclusive to that compilation though, so please take the time to donate if you're interested. It's a truly worthy cause. Visit the website for details: http: / fandom4saa . wordpress . com/**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com, as will the recipes from this chapter.**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	12. Chapter 12

**Special thanks to SR and Lucette212 for their help with this chapter.**

**Just a quick explanation for those who missed it: July 4th is a national holiday in the U.S., and when it falls on a weekend, as it did in 2010, most employees are given a weekday off to make up for it. Monday the 5th, in this case. Which is why Bella isn't at work, but Edward is: a CFO's work is never done.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**From: Edward Masen: EMasen (at) culleninc (dot) com**  
**To: Bella: VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com**  
**Date: Monday, July 5, 2010 at 12:59 PM**  
**Subject: It's Hip To Be A Square (or not...)**

Dear Bella,

I hope you are well this afternoon. I'm taking an hour lunch break and I thought I'd email you before my assistant comes back from fetching us some lunch. I'm a little worried that he wasn't bluffing when he said he was going to Wendy's to buy us all burgers. Such fast food is not my typical lunch fare, as you know. I sure hope he was kidding, because I hear their meat patties are shaped into squares. Why I would want a meat patty that's the same shape as my napkin, I don't know. Anyway, Seth is actually a very diligent and sensible assistant, so he was surely joking. Then again, it _is _a holiday...I'm not sure which restaurants are open.

I told Whitlock we'd buy lunch for him too, since I don't want him wandering around Midtown when most places are closed. He'd probably take it as a sign of the apocalypse, or a zombie takeover, perhaps. I don't have the time to explain what's going on – I have to call Carlisle at 2:00 sharp, and then I'll actually be working with Whitlock to adjust Marketing's budget.

(Oh! Crowley just looked it up and there's a Wendy's on the Avenue of the Americas! Please excuse his unauthorized Internet usage. We've had a busy weekend and he's tired of looking at numbers. He now seems mesmerized by the Flash animation on the chain's website. The fries are dancing! This Wendy woman also has the same color hair as Victoria. I wonder if she yells obscenities at board meetings too.)

I won't bore you with the details of these reports I'm in the middle of redoing. But if you want to hear something that will send you to sleep, you know where to reach me.

Edward Masen  
Hungry Man  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Bella: VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com**  
**To: Edward Masen: EMasen (at) culleninc (dot) com  
Date: Monday, July 5, 2010 at 4:50 PM**  
**Subject: RE: It's Hip To Be A Square (or not...) **

Dear Mr. Masen,

I hope you had an enjoyable lunch, even though the shape of the food is distressing to you.

Isabella Swan

* * *

By the time Seth finally arrived this morning, I'd already worked myself into a frenzy. I had somehow managed to misplace a particular manila folder, one that contained important paperwork for the Marketing department to sign off on. The more I looked for it, the more irritated I became, and it was this frustration that compelled me to snap at my assistant for his uncharacteristic tardiness.

"Seth, do you have _any _idea what time it is?" I asked, pointing at the clock on the far wall in disapproval.

He looked at me in puzzlement. "It's eight thirty-two, Mr. Masen," he answered dutifully. "And for the record, you're pointing at a poster of a clock. Remember? You asked the Art department to design a set of motivational posters to enhance productivity? The minute hand is pointing to 'efficiency,' while the hour hand is pointing to 'quality.'"

"Oh, right," I replied, still confused. I threw an irritated look at the poster. "Someone must've snuck in earlier this morning to hang that up there."

"Mr. Whitlock actually affixed that to the wall last night, sir. I guess you were too busy to notice?"

"I suppose so..."

I quickly shook my head. Clearly I was frazzled. I had noticed no such thing. In an attempt to regain some credibility, I straightened my tie and sat up in my chair.

"Nevertheless, you were supposed to be here at least thirty minutes ago," I pointed out, getting back on message. "I have no idea where I put the Marshall file and I've been waiting for you to come help me find it."

Seth was now looking at me with even more concern. "Um, sir, you said it was okay for me to visit the dentist this morning. For a check-up. And the file..." He glanced down toward my desk. "You seem to be using it as a mouse pad. And a coaster at the same time."

On closer inspection, I found that Seth was indeed correct. Right there, under the mouse and my mug of coffee, was the very manila folder I'd been searching for. What was even more worrisome was that I didn't usually use a mouse pad. Nor did I ever use a coaster. I really was on another planet, it seemed, one where I was more concerned about preventing both coffee rings and cursor lag.

"Are you feeling alright?" Seth asked.

Chagrined, I shook my head to indicate that no, I wasn't alright. "I'm all over the place this morning. I apologize. I do remember you telling me about your dentist appointment."

After moving my mug of coffee aside, I picked up the manila folder and checked that the papers inside were still in good condition. Luckily, they were. I looked up again when Seth cleared his throat.

"Do you want me to rearrange this morning's schedule?" he broached, stepping forward to straighten the photo frame on my desk. "Push back your first few meetings? Or cancel one of them? Give you a bit more time to, er, wake up..."

I sighed in resignation. "I'm awake. I'm just...very distracted."

I sat quietly in my chair as Seth returned to his own desk and settled in. I didn't miss the fact that he hadn't closed the door between us – this way we could see each other from afar. He could step in if I started doing something strange, like attempting to reset the time on the clock poster.

Stupid poster. Why did I even come up with such an idea? Now I had a large piece of paper judging me for my lack of productivity. Come to think of it, the photo sitting on my desk – a shot of all us executives with Carlisle – also seemed to be judging me. I strongly doubted any of the other executives were having efficiency problems this morning.

And why was my red pen out of its holder this morning? Was it trying to tell me that I needed to grade my own performance?

"Seth!" I called out. "I'm personifying the objects around me. Could you please get me a snack of some sort? I'm feeling a bit light-headed."

"Yes, Mr. Masen. Right away."

At least one of us was on the ball. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the ball was judging me too.

_What is _wrong _with me today?_

Interestingly, Seth's absence from his desk only served to remind me of another absence. The real reason why I probably felt so off-kilter this morning.

Something had been _missing _from Bella's email reply.

Though I possessed the ability to interpret finance regulations and complicated pieces of tax legislation, I was not as skilled when it came to "reading between the lines." The problem with more modern methods of correspondence, such as email or text message, was that tone could often be misconstrued. A terse email – commonly sent when one is busy – could accidentally be read as indicating indifference, for example. It was this possibility that came to mind when I received Bella's short reply.

But other factors had to be taken into consideration. She hadn't shared _anything _about her day. Nor had she expressed any disgust on the subject of me possibly having a fast food lunch, a far cry from the culinary delights we were used to sharing. She'd also signed off with her full name and without a witty line to follow.

I wasn't someone particularly familiar with personal correspondence, so it was no wonder I was having trouble construing her intended tone. I'd been worried last night too, but at least I'd been drowning in work then. Since I didn't know why she'd replied in this particular manner, I hadn't yet written my own reply. Now we weren't emailing at all!

This was quickly turning into a disaster. I had no idea what to do.

Seth soon returned with a packet of Cheetos and an apple – apparently there was some sort of muffin shortage today. After dismissing the fact that I was likely to get cheese dust on my documents, I started eating the Cheetos, all the while staring blankly at my computer screen. Emails were appearing in my inbox every half minute. It was hypnotizing in a way. I wasn't sure why I was staring at the screen like this – it was like I expected Bella to suddenly send me a clarification email, something I knew was unlikely to happen. It was only when Seth reminded me that Jasper Whitlock was due at any minute for his meeting with me that I snapped out of it and told myself that inactivity was only making things worse for both my work _and _my friendship with Bella.

"Uh, send him right in when he arrives," I said, looking around for a napkin to wipe my hands on.

I ended up finding a spare piece of paper in the top drawer of my desk. Of course, it was only after I'd gotten cheese dust all over it that I realized it was actually a check.

"Why would I put a check in here?" I asked out loud, looking down at the contents of the drawer.

"I don't know."

Startled, I jumped in my seat and looked up to find Whitlock smiling happily and approaching my desk. After sitting himself down, he took it upon himself to take the check from me.

"Oh, it's a blank check," he commented with a sigh. He tossed it back to me. "Worthless."

Only Jasper Whitlock would call a blank check from Cullen, Inc. worthless. I merely stared at him as he picked lint off his tie. It was his "Tuesday tie." Either he had a maximum of seven ties – one for each day – or it was his way of telling Monday from Tuesday. For all I knew, the back of his tie carried other information like the lunar calendar or the numbers for 411, 911 and 1-800-ANSWERS.

"Er, yes, worthless," I said awkwardly.

There was no point in correcting him. I didn't want to give him any ideas.

"Did you not comb your hair this morning?" he asked in curiosity as I opened up the manila folder in front of me.

I touched my hair self-consciously. "That's not important."

"Are you suuuuure?"

The amused manner in which he asked these questions often made him seem like a child, eager to know anything and everything, no matter how irrelevant. He'd once asked me why the sky was blue. My explanation of the earth's atmosphere and the scattering of light rays from the sun seemed to scare him, as if I was suggesting the sun was shooting laser beams at the earth. I think I put him off laser-tag for life, because he reacted very badly when Carlisle suggested we try it as a team-building exercise.

I patted down my hair and proceeded with the conversation.

"Yes, I'm sure," I answered politely, trying not to get too exasperated. "Now, onto the adjustments for this budget –"

"My wife is flying to Mongolia today," he interjected.

"That's not really relevant to this – "

"Alice is _really _excited. I'm so happy for her!"

"Just be careful with your pushpins this time," I advised. "Now, back to the budget – "

"Oh, she doesn't have to worry about money. She has a sponsor!"

I frowned at his fist-pump. Such displays were supposed to be reserved for_ actual_ achievements.

"Well, that's nice," I replied, speaking slowly for his benefit. "But we have to talk about Marketing's budget. Otherwise Victoria will not be happy."

He looked at me in confusion. I wasn't sure which sentence had befuddled him.

This was going to be tiring. Carlisle owed me big time; the only reason I was even letting Whitlock go over this budget – as opposed to calling in Victoria – was because Carlisle always wanted me to help the guy out.

Now he was looking at me with concern.

"You don't look happy today, Mase."

"It's _Masen_."

"I know, man. I'm trying to give you a nickname," he explained. "You can call me Whit!"

"That would be ironic."

"What would be ironic?"

"Nothing."

"I-ron-nothing?" He chuckled. "You're such a crack up. I'm glad we're friends."

_He thinks we're friends?_

As soon as I asked myself the question, I thought of Bella, who I definitely considered a friend. I was stuck in a meeting with someone who didn't understand me, when all I really wanted to do was sort out my real friendship problems.

Noticing my frown, Jasper leaned forward and looked at me sympathetically.

"Come on, dude. Spill. Tell me about her."

"Excuse me?"

My heart skipped a beat. How did he know I was thinking about a woman?

"Tell me about her," he repeated.

"Who?"

"_Her_."

I tried to connect with his thought process. "Victoria?" I guessed, thinking we might now be talking about the budget.

"Victoria?" He gaped at me. "You're worried about _Victoria_?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"What are _you _talking about? I didn't know you had a crush on her."

I almost gagged, and not from the remnants of cheese dust at the back my mouth.

"I do _not _have a crush on her," I said emphatically. "I'm thirty-five years old – I don't get 'crushes' anymore."

"But you seem upset over a lay-dee," Whitlock contended. "I can tell."

I regarded him suspiciously. "How can you tell?"

"I'm pretty good at judging how people feel," he answered with a shrug. "You look like you miss someone. You're worried. Like me when I think about Alice sometimes. She's far away, and her work can sometimes be dangerous."

Stunned by his perceptiveness, I sat back in my chair and regarded him carefully. Whitlock was a simpleton. He didn't have the faintest clue how to do his job properly. Yet here he was, picking up on my anxiety like he was some sort of empath. Was it possible that he wasn't completely useless? Would he have any wisdom to share? After all, he'd managed to land Alice Cullen. Not that I was trying to woo Bella...I just wanted to keep our friendship alive. I liked her.

"There is this, uh, friend of mine," I began, all the while questioning myself. I was talking to _Whitlock _about this. I usually had more luck talking to the water cooler.

"Go on."

"Well, we're just friends. But I really like her company. I want to continue being her friend."

"Uh-huh."

"But, you know, I've always been a busy guy. I don't _really _know how to maintain relationships..."

It occurred to me that I sounded like a rookie. What would the people in IT call me? A n00b?

Suddenly, _Whitlock _was the informed one.

"Go on, Mase," he urged. "What's the problem?"

"Uh, well, I sent her an email yesterday at lunch. She didn't reply until _hours _later. And it was such a short reply. She seemed...disinterested."

I frowned. I was sure I sounded pathetic.

"Do you always email each other?"

"Yes," I replied, nodding. "It's what we do. I mean, we also see each other in person..."

"When was the last time you saw her?" he asked, looking at me with concern.

"I was supposed to meet up with her on Sunday night. Fourth of July and all that. But I had to work – you were here, remember?"

"So...you bailed?"

"I canceled. I called her. That's what you're supposed to do in those situations, isn't it? Call?"

Whitlock pulled a face. "Did you cancel on her like you cancel your meetings?"

"How do you mean?"

"You're a businessman."

"Yes...I'm aware of that."

What was he getting at?

"Did you talk to her in the same way you talk to Victoria?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Like...not that friendly. Did you say sorry? Did you tell her you were sad you couldn't come?"

"Um..."

The more I tried to recall the phone conversation, the more I realized how awfully quick it had been. I could have come across as unapologetic...Heck, I'd been distracted by everything going on around me.

"But she _knows _I'm a busy man. I didn't have the time to talk about it," I said in my defense. "There were things to do. It was chaos in here."

Whitlock looked over at the poster he'd affixed to my wall.

"Maybe you should talk her, man," he suggested, looking back at me. "I don't think you're going to get much work done."

I sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right. I'll get Seth to call you back when I've sorted myself out."

"You gotta talk to her. Communication is key," he added. "That's what one of the other posters said."

"Yeah."

He pushed his chair back and stood up. I was still kind of dumbstruck. He'd offered me advice – advice that was probably right. I'd written him off a long time ago, believing him to be completely dense.

"Er, thanks," I finally said.

"It's cool, bro. Anyway, I gotta go fix my map. Don't worry, I won't take my shoes off this time!"

"Good idea."

I watched him walk out of my office.

Jasper Whitlock. My own personal Dr. Phil.

It was a very, very strange feeling.

But he was right. I needed to talk to Bella.

"Seth!" I called out.

He came bounding in from his desk. "Yes, Mr. Masen?"

"My computer is freezing. As in the screen is freezing. It's not actually cold. In fact, I think it's overheating, and I need someone from IT to come up here and look at it."

"Yes, right away."

"Call Isabella Swan. She comes highly recommended," I added, trying to sound casual.

Seth nodded. "Will do. As soon as possible, sir?"

"Yes, as soon as possible."

Waiting for Bella was actually quite nerve-wracking. I found myself wondering how I should greet her. Since my friendship with her wasn't common knowledge, Seth would find it strange if I waited at my office door with an anxious look on my face. However, if I happened to be sitting behind my desk when Bella arrived, I risked looking unfriendly. I'd be the evil executive, summoning IT workers at will, while also oiling my hair and stroking my evil cat.

In the end, I decided to get up and pretend to be adjusting the clock poster. On hearing Bella and Seth talking outside, I made sure I looked thoughtful for when they entered my office.

Seth knocked, opened the door and smiled at me. I saw Bella behind him – she was fidgeting and looking anywhere but in my direction.

"Mr. Masen, Ms. Swan from IT is here."

"Thank you," I answered as Seth stepped out of Bella's way and went back to his desk.

With no choice now but to enter my office, Bella finally looked at me.

Her eyes seemed so sad.

_I _had made her feel this way.

Upset with myself for hurting my friend, I clenched my fists. Unfortunately, I was still holding the poster in one hand, so I ended up with a fist full of paper.

"Um, please close the door behind you," I said awkwardly, gesturing with my other hand. "Thanks for coming up."

She nodded and complied with my request. However, she stayed near the door, though she did glance in the direction of my computer.

"I don't actually have a computer problem," I admitted, stepping forward to be closer to her. "I just really needed to talk to you. I'm sorry about the other day."

"Oh, that's okay," she mumbled. "It's not a big deal."

"No, it is."

Bella averted her gaze, which made me feel even worse. Then I realized I hadn't even asked her to sit down or anything. She was hugging the wall, seemingly eager to leave.

"Please have a seat," I urged, walking over to my desk so that she'd follow.

After a moment, she stepped forward and reluctantly sat down opposite me.

What was the best way to ask for forgiveness? I wasn't used to apologies of this sort. This wasn't an incorrect forecast or a poor estimate I was apologizing for.

Nervously, I cleared my throat. "I should probably recycle this," I said, showing her the paper I'd ripped. "The company is supposed to be more environmentally conscious."

"Right," she replied, still looking down.

I tossed the ball of paper into the wastepaper basket beside my desk. Except it didn't go in. Of course it didn't. Not only was I a bad friend, I was also a litter bug.

"I'm really not having any luck today," I bemoaned, getting up.

It was when I bent down to pick up the paper ball that I realized I needed to make more of an effort here. Show her I was really sincere. Sitting at my desk – in my executive office – was not a level playing field. This wasn't about me being a CFO and her being someone from the IT department. This was about friendship and I was supposed to be groveling.

Before I could stop myself, I got down on one knee beside Bella's chair and took her hand.

Surprised, she looked at me and then looked down at her hand. Then back at me. And then at her hand.

Our hands, rather.

"Um..." she began, shifting in her seat, her eyes settling on the floor between us.

"Listen – "

"Your shoes are shiny!" she blurted out.

"Yes, they are," I responded, still holding her hand and biting back my laughter. I loved it when she blurted out her random thoughts. There was something so incredibly endearing about it. "It would be remiss of me to wear a well-tailored suit with a scuffed pair of shoes. It would cheapen the entire outfit. Or so I hear."

Bella blushed a little and nodded her head. "That sounds right."

I squeezed her hand. "Listen, Bella, I really am very sorry for how I treated you the other day. We had plans, and I should've been more sensitive when I canceled on you. I was so caught up in my work that I didn't stop to think about how you would feel."

She nodded her head slightly and bit her lip. "Okay," she said softly, looking up at me shyly.

I looked pleadingly at her, willing her to understand what my life was like. She looked so vulnerable and pretty and I had a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to kiss the frown away from her mouth. Instead, I took a deep breath and shook my head to regain my composure. Not sure I was getting through to her and not wanting her to question my sincerity, I squeezed her hand again and tried to maintain eye contact. "I need you to understand that my work here is my first priority. It has been for a long while and it will continue to be for the foreseeable future. But that doesn't mean you aren't a priority also."

"I'm sorry I was so upset," she whispered. "You just surprised me by canceling and I was really looking forward to having you over."

"I was looking forward to it too, believe me. I would have much rather been with you than here working," I assured her. "But this is really important to me."

"I know. I remember what you told me about why you work so hard. I just...it's fine," she said, smiling at me and shaking her head.

"I promise if I ever have to cancel on you again I won't treat you like a business associate. The way I went about things was wrong," I said, remembering Jasper's advice. "I'll be a more dependable friend. And if you so wish, you can impose a cancellation policy – a penalty if I don't give you twenty-four hours notice."

Bella lifted her gaze and the mirth dancing in her eyes gave me some hope.

"Hm, what kind of penalty are we talking about?" she asked lightly.

"I suggest a monetary form of compensation. We can call it Friend Insurance," I said, reluctantly releasing her hand and standing before taking a seat in the chair next to her. "We could use a sliding scale based on what our plans are. And even if I don't disappoint you, I'm sure the policy can offer a No Claim Bonus."

She laughed and straightened her posture. "Oh, Mr. Masen. Women don't like cash, it's too impersonal. Don't you know that?"

"Um, no," I replied, embarrassed. "Doesn't everyone like money? I mean, I know there are proponents for a barter-and-exchange type society, but this is the United States."

"Sure everyone likes money, but have you ever given a woman in your life money as a gift?"

"I usually outsource the buying of gifts for my mother..." I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Assistants are very good at those sorts of things."

"How about for girlfriends?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Um..." I said, running my hand through my hair. "What exactly constitutes a girlfriend?"

She looked at me with an exasperated expression on her face. "Someone you would take out on dates, maybe home to meet your parents, and eventually buy a gift for, I would imagine."

"Then…no."

"No, what?"

"No, I've never given money, or any gift, to a girlfriend." Why did I feel so embarrassed by this admission? As she sat there silently regarding me, I wondered if this made me a loser of some sort. I'd been with my share of women – I was far from a monk – but I'd never been with any woman long enough to consider her a girlfriend. A hefty trust fund and superficial relationships that I knew were based on what I could offer as opposed to who I was kept me from getting too involved with anyone when I was younger, and my work had been keeping me so busy for the last few years that I hadn't even really bothered to date too much. I wanted a wife and family, someone to share my life with and come home to every night – very much – but that aspect of my life was always relegated to "someday," or at least until after my professional goals were met.

"Well," Bella finally said, "I can assure you, as a friend who also happens to be a woman, that we don't appreciate cash as much as a well thought out gift from the heart."

"How about a gift certificate?" I joked. "To a store where women can find something nice for themselves. So, you know, not Home Depot or Baby Gap. Or Home Gap or Baby Depot for that matter."

"_Edward_."

"Don't worry. The lesson has been duly noted."

"Good," she replied.

"So am I forgiven?" I asked.

She quickly nodded. "Yes, Edward. You're forgiven."

I breathed a sigh of relief and felt better than I had since receiving her email yesterday.

"You look tired," she remarked, her hand coming to rest on my arm. It felt warm even through the material of my shirt and jacket.

I shook my head and smiled. "I guess I didn't sleep too well last night. I had a lot on my mind," I said sheepishly. The truth was that Bella, and her terse email, was what had kept me awake tossing and turning last night.

"I didn't –"

Just then, Seth knocked on the door and opened it, his head poking through. "Mr. Masen, your ten o'clock is here."

Seth's face went from pleasant and professional to confused as he took in the scene before him. His boss and the girl from IT were sitting next to each other on the wrong side of the desk. And there was inappropriate-for-the-workplace touching.

"They can wait, Seth," I said shortly, irrationally pissed off that he had come in without waiting for me to answer his knock on the door. The thing was, I had no right to be angry since he did that all the time. I normally had nothing to hide and as far as he knew, I was in here waiting for this random woman from the IT department to fix my computer.

"Of course, Mr. Masen," Seth replied, closing the door firmly behind him.

This was going to be awkward, but I just fixed my relationship with Bella and I wasn't prepared to deal with any other drama quite yet. Seth was loyal and it would wait.

"Your assistant seems nice," Bella remarked.

"Seth's great. He's the real gentleman here, actually. He shines all my shoes. Even my gym shoes and flip-flops."

She laughed. "You don't seem like the type to own flip-flops."

"Sometimes I surprise people," I replied, laughing too. "You know what also surprises people? Foot fungus. People should wear flip-flops when showering at the gym."

What I continued to find surprising was my bond with Bella. I tried to think of any other person who I'd deign to kneel for, bar the Queen of England if she were knighting me. Though it was unlikely American citizens were eligible for such an honor.

"I made you a chicken pot pie on Sunday."

"Damn," I muttered. Now my cancellation, and the way I did it, seemed so much worse than it had before. I wondered if this was what friends did for each other on a regular basis and if I should have expected it. "I –"

"Wait," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad. I just wanted to know if I should bring it in for you."

The thought of Bella's chicken pot pie for dinner made me ridiculously happy. But as I pictured myself opening a bottle of wine and eating a solitary dinner, I didn't feel quite as happy. I would much rather have someone, namely Bella, share my dinner. Wanting someone's company this much was a foreign, but not wholly unpleasant feeling.

"You don't need to do that. You spent the time cooking it for me, I can't expect you to hand deliver it also."

"You could...if you're not too busy...I mean, later, if you wanted..." She closed her eyes and shook her head, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks.

As if I didn't already feel bad enough, I realized she was now hesitant to ask me to do something with her for fear that I might say no. Maybe this wasn't as easily fixed as I thought.

"Have dinner with me tonight," I offered. "I probably won't have to stay much past six and I can make up for Sunday. Please? I can order take out like nobody's business and I open a mean bottle of wine. I'll send a car for you."

"Edward..."

"It's more for me than for you. I'm selfish and I don't want to spend my evening worrying about you getting around safely. Please. I'd drive you myself but I'm not sure the attendant at the garage where I keep my cars even knows who I am anymore."

"_Cars_? As in more than one?"

"Um..."

"You know what? Forget it. I don't want to know," she said, getting up and smiling at me. "I'll be waiting, and I'll bring your chicken pot pie."

"Thanks, Bella," I said sincerely, getting up, walking her to the door and opening it for her. "Not just for the food. But for understanding. I really will try to do better."

"So will I," she said, walking out of my office.

As Seth ushered in my ten o'clock, I wondered how long it would be before I disappointed her again, and how understanding she would really be.

* * *

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	13. Chapter 13

**Surprise! A rare early update.**

**Thanks to SR for going the extra mile with this chapter, and to Lucette212 and arfalcon for prereading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

Edward was late, which was unusual. If nothing else, the man was unfailingly punctual. That really didn't surprise me, given the stringent way in which he seemed to live his life. Well, stringent for me. I was a more fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of girl, but despite our differences, we were becoming great friends.

We had come to an understanding of sorts after he called me to his office right after July Fourth. I accepted the fact that though we were friends, Edward's job was his first priority and I would play second fiddle for the time being, and maybe always. It bothered me sometimes, knowing I wasn't more important than his job, but during those times I would remind myself that it wasn't a job to Edward, it was a career. And more importantly, I wasn't his girlfriend. I knew in my honest moments that I wanted to be, but I tried to keep those moments to a minimum. If he wanted me he would give some indication, or at least try to cop a feel, which he never did, so most of the time I was perfectly happy and content to have made a new friend.

I was waiting for him at D&D on another Sunday morning, our regular coffee date quickly becoming the highlight of my week. Except this Sunday he told me to plan on being out for the day since he had a surprise for me.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, strolling in a few minutes later and sitting across from me. "I had to produce three forms of identification and submit to a blood test to get my car out of the lot. They took more than they were supposed to, so don't be surprised if I suddenly faint from blood loss." He grinned. "I'm kidding. They couldn't even find a good vein."

"We're driving somewhere?" I asked, excited and curious about what he had planned.

"We are," he said cryptically, sipping the coffee I ordered for him. "I'm sure you've heard Somewhere, New York is a great place to visit. Their tourism campaign has been very aggressive this year."

I sat there waiting for him to elaborate while he smirked at me, obviously pleased with himself and his ability to keep a secret.

I really wanted to wait him out and pretend like I wasn't dying to know where we were going, but I'm pretty sure I lasted all of forty-nine seconds.

"Come on, tell me!" I whined, kicking my feet like a petulant child.

He smiled sweetly at me and reached in the back pocket of his jeans, slapping something on the table.

They were tickets, dated today. "Mets tickets?" I asked stupidly.

"Carlisle has season tickets and I thought you might like to go," he replied, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. Which to him maybe it wasn't, but I loved baseball and tickets were prohibitively expensive in New York, so this was a huge treat for me.

"Really?" I asked, obviously having a particularly articulate day.

"Really," he said, his smile about taking my breath away. He looked so pleased with himself and while I stopped questioning why he was so kind to me weeks ago, that didn't prevent me from being slightly awed by it, and by him.

"These better be good seats," I declared, picking up the tickets and inspecting them closely. "I'm prone to nosebleeds at high altitudes, which is why I don't go to games regularly."

"I think you'll be pleased," he said. "But I have First Aid training should there be any errant nose bleeds. I'm an Eagle Scout."

"Huh, I never pictured you as the Eagle Scout type, but now that you mention it, it makes sense."

"How so?"

"You're very...determined. And ordered." He raised his eyebrow at me and I held up my hand. "These aren't bad things. I can just see how once you start something, you see it through to the end."

"I can't argue with that. And now that you mention it, it did change over the years. I was a Boy Scout because I was having fun, but toward the end, when I was almost an Eagle, I was doing it to finish, not for enjoyment."

"Drive and determination aren't necessarily negative traits," I told him. "You're probably the most ambitious person I've ever met and I like you just fine, Mr. Masen."

"Well thank you, Ms. Swan, your approval is much appreciated."

"Speaking of which, are you taking the day off today, or will you be bringing your laptop to the game?"

"I'm taking the day off, smart ass," he said with a wry smile. "I told Carlisle I was unreachable, though I couldn't bring myself to leave my BlackBerry at home. It gets lonely when I leave it there. That, and I can't trust it not to eat all the Oreos in the pantry."

I rolled my eyes and handed him _The Week in Review_, his favorite section of the Sunday _Times_. "Here, we have time to kill before the game starts."

We sat and read and drank coffee and an hour later, we were on our way to Queens.

Not surprisingly, Edward was an extremely competent driver. Unfortunately for me, I found competence, especially when driving, extremely attractive. I sighed as I watched him shift the gears in his Mercedes, the muscles in his arms rippling pleasingly. I liked when he wore short sleeves and I was already dreading when winter came and his arms would be covered up.

"That's two sighs in the last five minutes," Edward remarked. "Something wrong?"

Embarrassed at being so obvious, I blushed and shook my head, thinking quickly on my feet. Even though I was seated. "Just anxious to get to the game. I haven't been in a while."

"You're sure that's all it is?" he asked. "You're not upset? Or literally _Waiting to Exhale_? Ugh, I hate that movie. Another bad date experience."

"I'm fine, Edward. So, how much do I owe you for the ticket?" I asked, quickly looking for a change in topic before I blurted out that I was sighing at his attractive forearms. That would make the day a little awkward.

"I do hope that's a joke," he warned, glancing over at me before focusing back on the road.

"No, I'm not kidding. You know I like to pay my own way."

He sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair before placing it on the gear shift between us. "These are company tickets. I didn't pay for them. And even if I did, I wouldn't invoice you for the amount. This was a surprise and something I wanted to do for you."

"Sorry," I replied shyly.

"Don't be sorry," he said, his tone softer. "I just...I don't mean to sound like a snob, but a day at a sporting event is something I can easily afford. You do without cable television because it's too expensive."

"Way to make a girl feel special, Edward."

"Shit, I didn't mean that like it came out," he said. "I'm wealthy, Bella. And not just from my job. I did nothing to earn it except be born. And being around you and seeing how you live paycheck to paycheck without complaining...it just makes me want to spend my disposable income on you. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I don't plan on stopping, so you better learn to deal with it." Even though he wasn't looking at me, I could see the slight smile on his face.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so," he said, pulling into the stadium. We apparently had some special parking pass because he bypassed the other cars waiting to be let in and stopped the car next to an attendant, who took the car keys and the money that Edward slipped into his hand. Edward held out his arm for me to follow him, but instead of walking toward the stadium, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome," he said gently, one of his arms around my waist, the other in my hair. He kissed me on the temple and I about passed out like a sixties teenager at a Beatles concert. Good Lord, but his lips were soft. My mind flashed quickly to other places I wanted those lips to kiss me, but I willed the inappropriate images away – I was in the middle of a baseball stadium parking lot, hugging my friend.

Friend.

Right.

Edward was right about me not being disappointed in the seats; they were in the first row, first base side, right at the Mets' dugout. They were box seats, so our section was in a square, with two empty seats behind us and a rail separating us from the box next to us on one side, and the aisle on the other. It was probably the best seat in the house and I was struck dumb by how close we were to the action. The stadium was filling up quickly and there were people in the seats around us, including some children behind us and a couple of guys to my left. There was music playing and the atmosphere made me feel alive and full of energy.

"Are you quiet because you're disappointed?" Edward asked after we were seated in silence for a few moments. "If you are, I'm not sure how much better I can do outside of getting you in the locker room. I could try, but I wouldn't want you to be around that many sweaty, half-dressed men at once. It might smell bad – the scent of gym socks mixed with Right Guard. And they're athletes so they probably look good half-naked and you'd forget all about me. Not that I would know if they looked good. I'm assuming. I don't look at men. I'm straight. Not that there's anything wrong with one man looking at another. I don't judge anyone based on who they look at. Unless they're some sort of peeping tom. Then there's definitely some sort of judgment. As a matter of fact, I –"

"_Edward_."

"Sorry," he said, taking a deep breath and smiling at me, making my stomach do that weird flip-floppy thing it did whenever he looked at me that way.

"The seats are amazing, thank you for bringing me."

"Can I get you folks anything?"

I looked up and saw an usher of some sort hovering over us. "Um..." I looked at Edward, unsure what, exactly, the usher was asking. I thought they just showed you to your seats and cleaned them before you sat.

"Just some menus, please," Edward told him. The usher pulled two menus out of his apron and handed one to each of us.

"Wow, they bring you food here?" I asked, awestruck at what a little money could buy. "In the nosebleeds you have to wait at the concession stand with the other riff-raff."

"Well, I certainly don't want you waiting with the riff-raff. I much prefer you being here," Edward replied, his eyes on the menu, one hand resting lightly on his chin. "Sometimes having money isn't so bad."

"No, I guess not," I said, looking over the menu. Funny how these seats probably cost a small fortune and a hamburger cost almost ten dollars. They got you coming and going.

"Plus, if there's something you want but don't see on the menu, I can always put in a special request," Edward said, winking at me. "Like a secret menu."

As I continued to stare and wonder how I would distribute the thirty or so dollars I had in my pocket – beer was eight dollars! – a gentle hand reached out and moved my hand away from my mouth, where I had been squeezing my lower lip with my fingers.

"I thought we talked about this," he said. "Please get whatever you'd like. My treat."

He looked so sweet and sincere that all I could do was nod my head and smile as he released my hand and focused back on the menu.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "I'll let you buy, but we're only going to get traditional ballpark food. Hot dogs, peanuts, warm Budweiser...no sushi or fancy sandwiches."

He groaned and looked over at me. "You're a chef, aren't you supposed to have really good taste? _Budweiser_?" he lamented. "Just because they're a sponsor doesn't mean we have to buy into it."

"Yes, I know it's nasty and I would never drink it anywhere else, but it's a tradition. Please? It would make me feel better," I said, putting on my best pouty face.

Edward's breath hitched and his eyes flicked quickly to my lips before he looked away from me. "Or not," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I had a boyfriend in college who drank Budweiser and it would probably remind me of him anyway. He drank too much and would slobber all over me like an affectionate dog. Plus, he had hair on his back. But other than that, he was very nice."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, giving me a tingly feeling in my chest. I liked making him happy, even if I said embarrassing, silly things to make it happen.

"You have yourself a deal," he said. "Even on the warm Budweiser, God help me. And I promise my hairless back and I will make every effort to not slobber on you at any point during the afternoon. Scout's honor."

"Your efforts would be greatly appreciated," I retorted, though Edward hardly struck me as someone who slobbered. Ever.

After I told Edward that I liked to use a scorecard during the game, he asked the usher to bring us a program along with our beers and hot dogs, and I spent the first three innings teaching him how to keep score. We sat close together as I showed him how to mark down strikeouts, walks, hits and errors. Not surprisingly, he took to it immediately. I enjoyed teaching him something, as I suspected there wasn't much he didn't know, and being close to him didn't hurt either. He smelled good, and not from cologne, which on a man I found unattractive. I always wondered what _other_ smell were they trying to mask with an artificial scent. BO? Pot? Wife?

"Where did you learn how to do this?" he asked me.

"My mom. She was a huge Orioles fan. Money was usually tight so we didn't get to the ballpark often, but we would sit in front of the television and keep score as often as we could, sometimes with hot dogs and popcorn. Dad joined us most of the time, but my mom was the real fan. We never had a chance to go to the new Camden Yards before we left for Seattle."

I was looking down at the scorecard, feeling a little sad. I often missed my parents, and was normally able to deal with it well on a daily basis. But my love of baseball was so closely tied to them that it was impossible to think of one without the other.

Edward reached over and gently moved my hair behind me ear. "I'd like to take you someday, if you'll let me."

"I –"

I was interrupted by the ringing of Edward's BlackBerry. He grumbled and took it out of his back pocket, staring at the display for a long moment before looking at me and shaking his head. "Sorry, it's Carlisle. It must be important. He knew I was going to be out today."

"That's all right," I said, enjoying myself too much to give him a hard time about one phone call. He smiled at me and stepped away, putting the phone to his ear.

I sat for a while, keeping score and enjoying the atmosphere.

"Did your boyfriend ditch you?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, turning to the man next to me, who was looking at me with no small amount of curiosity.

"Seems like he's been gone a while. Your boyfriend," he said, gesturing to Edward's empty seat.

In truth, Edward had been gone so long that I was starting to get worried. I tried to avoid glancing at my watch but I was sure he got up at least ten minutes ago, which can seem like a lifetime when you're sitting at a baseball game by yourself.

"He's not my boyfriend," I told him, thinking this would somehow make his absence seem less inconsiderate. "We're just friends."

"Oh," he replied, smiling at me. He appeared older than me, though not much, and he had ice blue eyes and ink black hair. He was very handsome, though no Edward. I doubted anyone was.

"My name is Peter." He held his hand out to me and I took it, noting that he shook mine firmly, which I appreciated. There was nothing worse than a man or woman who gave a limp handshake.

"Bella," I said in reply.

"Well, Bella, your name is very fitting and I'm sorry your friend had to leave you alone."

"Thanks," I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. "It was an important call but I'm sure he'll be back very soon."

"I'm sure it was, though if I took you out I'd leave my phone home so I wouldn't be distracted."

"He does important work," I said, wanting very much to defend Edward while thinking that Peter had a good point. Though in reality Edward wasn't my boyfriend and I had no right to demand anything, especially that he leave his BlackBerry home.

"I imagine so. I like to think my work is important too. Are you from New York?" he asked, smoothly changing the subject.

"I am now," I replied, looking at him and returning his smile. "I'm starting to like it here more and more."

"That's good to hear."

"What about you?" I asked politely.

"I'm originally from upstate in Westchester, but I live on the Upper East Side now."

He asked me where I lived and we chatted for a few minutes about how SoHo and the Upper East Side were only a few miles apart geographically, but like different planets in every other way. I found out that he was twenty-nine and an investment banker, and as he was telling me about his sister, who was an actual circus clown, I was so wrapped up in our conversation that I didn't notice Edward had come back until he spoke from behind me.

"Change seats with me." I turned to the sound of Edward's voice and was greeted by a very irritated expression. But he wasn't looking at me, he was staring at my new friend Peter.

"Why?" I asked.

"Please, just do as I ask," he said through clenched teeth, finally looking at me.

"Okay," I said timidly, getting up and allowing him to take my seat next to Peter while I took the aisle seat.

"He wasn't bothering me," I whispered after we were seated.

"He was bothering _me_," Edward replied, his tone a little softer. He took my hand and held it in his on his leg, running his fingers across my knuckles. Most of the time, we respected the friend boundaries and rarely touched, but here he was holding my hand as we sat and watched the game. This wasn't something friends did and his touch did funny things to my insides.

"You were gone a while. Is everything all right?" I asked, trying to deflect his annoyance.

"Yeah," he said, his voice back to normal. "I'm not even sure why he thinks he needs me for this, but he insisted I was the only one who could handle it. That's why I was gone for so long." He was looking out at the field, my hand clutched tightly in his. I couldn't tell if he was angry, resigned, aggravated, or something else entirely. He was very difficult to read.

Thirty minutes later, it was the sixth inning and Edward was much more relaxed. Peter was forgotten and we were back to keeping score, even though the section for the fifth inning was completely blank. Edward had been holding my hand and I couldn't do both at once. Not that I minded.

"Do you want another beer?" Edward asked as the usher came back to check on us. "I think they stop serving after the seventh inning. Must be something in the sponsorship contract."

"Sure," I replied, just as Edward's BlackBerry rang. He hung his head for a moment before looking at me apologetically and taking it out of his pocket.

"Yes, Carlisle," he said, speaking into his phone but looking at me.

He listened for a minute before he spoke again, the annoyed tone in his voice surprising me. "Crowley can handle this. He's more than cap...Yes, I realize that...But I'm..."

His eyes met mine and he squeezed my hand tightly before getting up and walking away, his phone pressed to his ear. I gave a resigned sigh as the crowd burst into cheers. I marked down a David Wright homerun on my scorecard, wishing I could get excited that the Mets had just taken the lead.

"Are you not a Mets fan?" Peter asked me.

"No, I am," I said, looking over at him. "I'm a masochist, so of course I'm a Mets fan. Wanna take bets on how long 'til they blow this two run lead?"

"I'll take that bet. I have a good feeling about today," he said, smiling very genuinely at me.

"What are your terms?" I asked, grinning back at him. He really did have a nice smile, though it didn't make my stomach knot up like when Edward smiled at me.

"Dinner?"

"Um..." Was there something stopping me from accepting? I was here with Edward, but we were just friends and aside from the hand-holding, he didn't give me any indication that it would be anything more. Peter was good looking and nice and apparently interested in getting to know me.

And I was unattached.

"Here, let's do it this way," Peter said, reaching over and handing me a business card. "I'd really like to have dinner with you when your protector isn't around. But the ball is in your court, Bella."

I took his card and as I was slipping it in my back pocket, Edward came back.

"Bella?"

I looked up at him and the expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. For once, he was an open book.

"It's okay," I said, getting up. "They'll probably lose anyway and I don't want to be here for it."

He took my hand and pulled me close to him. "I'm really sorry."

"No problem," I said dismissively. "Let's just go, really, it's fine." This was me being understanding of his schedule and his work, even though I was really very disappointed and sad that our afternoon was coming to a premature end. Though if something had to end prematurely, I suppose an afternoon at the ballpark was better than..._other things_.

He nodded and put his hand on my back to lead me out.

"Remember what I said, Bella!" Peter called out, smiling at me.

I felt Edward tense next to me as I turned and waved to Peter.

"What did he say to you?" Edward asked once we were seated in the car and on the way back to Manhattan.

"Who?"

"The person sitting next to you," he replied, his hand gripping the steering wheel.

"Oh, Peter. He gave me his card. He wants to take me to dinner." I shrugged my shoulders. "He seemed nice enough."

"Did he fail to notice that you were _with someone_?" he asked testily.

"He assumed you were my boyfriend," I replied defensively. "But I set him straight."

"You're not going to call him, are you?" he questioned, putting on his sunglasses against the glare of the afternoon sun.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?" I challenged. "He doesn't seem like the type to rub one out in my hallway or take me to IHOP, so I see no harm in it." I actually hadn't planned on calling him, but Edward's obvious aggravation was getting on my nerves. He had no claim to me, nor did he want one.

We rode in silence the rest of the way back to Manhattan and as we pulled up to my apartment, my annoyance had cooled considerably. "Thanks again for taking me. I had a really nice day," I said sincerely.

"He's giving me his company, Bella," he said softly, staring out the windshield. "I can't let him down and I need him to know that I'm reliable and trustworthy."

"Giving you his company?" I asked, not fully understanding what he meant.

"Carlisle's going to retire soon and I'm next in line. No one in his family wants it and he's asked me to be his successor." He turned to me and took his sunglasses off. "It won't be tomorrow or next week, but it'll be soon. It's a huge responsibility and I have to be ready."

"Okay." I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to say and I didn't really understand the sad look on his face. Shouldn't this be making him happy? "I'm going to go. Thanks again."

On impulse, I reached over and kissed him on the cheek and then quickly exited the car without looking back.

* * *

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	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to SR for betaing, and to Lucette212 and arfalcon for pre-reading.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Edward**_

I was turning into a green-eyed monster.

Every time I visualized the Peter character from this afternoon, something inside me raged so fiercely that I wondered if I was turning into The Hulk. Sure, he was more of a green monster than a green_-eyed_ monster, but he was an angry creature nonetheless. I'd be angry too if I had over-sized muscles and a wardrobe that consisted entirely of denim cut-offs. Such an existence would be simply unbearable.

Speaking of unbearable, seeing Peter be _that _interested in Bella was something that had annoyed me to no end. Even worse was the fact that she'd seemingly welcomed said interest. She took his business card, of all the tacky things to give out. It was a small miracle I didn't lose my temper on the drive back from the stadium. I'd invited her out so that we could spend time together, not for her to be accosted every time I stepped away to answer a phone call.

Oh, the phone calls. Deep down I knew I'd been foolish to expect a complete free pass today – something was _always _going on in the world of Cullen, Inc. and more often than not it demanded the attention of its executives. It was frustrating: I'd reassured Bella of the positive things money could do, only to find myself being pulled away by questions of finance and acquisitions, questions Carlisle could not bring himself to trust Crowley to answer. It had been my intention to pay as much attention as possible to Bella and the game, but I had never been one to shirk my work responsibilities.

And those responsibilities were only going to increase.

I was next in line to be CEO.

I'd shared this piece of information with Bella when I dropped her home. I needed her to understand. In that moment, I'd been unable to shake the sadness that had overcome me. Never before had the sacrifice been so apparent. She had genuinely appeared to have had a good time – she'd even kissed me on the cheek in the car. But the fact of the matter was , I'd cut our time short. While we drove back to Manhattan – in silence, no less – the game had continued. Was that what my life was going to be like from now on? Did I have company tickets to the game of life? Was I bound to spend life with a dear friend only to lose her to a stranger, someone willing to stay by her side for all nine innings?

I felt sick.

While I knew I had certain priorities, namely my work, the audacity of this Peter continued to offend me. It was now half past eleven, and despite the mental capacity that went into following up Carlisle's inquiries once I arrived back home, my mind was still in overdrive. How _dare _this stranger approach Bella and think it appropriate to chat her up? She'd come to the game with _me_, on my company tickets. It was lucky I'd been joking about being subjected to a blood test earlier – my blood was positively _boiling _right now. I hardly think that would make for easy extraction.

Tired but restless, I switched on the television in my bedroom before wandering over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It wasn't long before I heard the sounds of various infomercials, common for this time slot. The Egg Genie. Point 'n' Paint. Snap Capps.

I looked at my reflection. The man in the mirror was definitely frowning. The expression was just "As Seen on TV" – the example of what everyone looks like before the purchase of magical items.

_I don't want to buy anything. All I want is for Bella not to go out with this Peter fellow._

As I trudged back into the bedroom, I wondered if I was being a bad friend by wishing this. Surely a true friend would be supportive in these circumstances. After all, I distinctly remembered telling Bella not to give up dating, as I believed there was someone out there for her. Was it not my duty to make sure she was happy? Even if it meant supporting her decision to have dinner with a potential love interest? I knew she wasn't mine in that way – not that I think of women as property – but I liked the elevated position of being the man in her life. It was a place I was increasingly comfortable with.

Friendship, it seemed, was proving to be even more difficult to manage than previously thought. If my brain were a company, I'd have to appoint a different type of CFO. A Chief Friendship Officer. Someone who kept tabs on things like favorite foods, birthdays, memorable quotes, and opinions on everything from Obama to football to the guy at the deli on 45th Street who never shuts up about his pet rock. (The latter was something Seth was forced to tolerate every time I wanted a sandwich for lunch.) How anyone juggled multiple friendships without screwing up too often was beyond me.

I set my alarm for six, knowing I had to go the gym before meeting up with Carlisle first thing in the morning. Odds were I'd be hitting the treadmill hard, pretending I was squashing Peter under my feet.

_Who says executives have to be mature all the time?_

* * *

I was still mildly irritated by the time I got to Carlisle's office at eight the next morning. I'd expected my gym session to be therapeutic, but it hadn't completely done the trick. As I understood it, exercise was supposed to make people feel better due to all the endorphins. Apparently, I needed some sort of endorphin injection or some other sort of (hopefully FDA approved) happy pill.

Carlisle's assistant, Heidi, frowned at me as I approached. I frowned in return, as I didn't think it appropriate that she was greeting me in this manner.

"Mr. Masen, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but your shirt is buttoned incorrectly," she told me, covering her headset's microphone. "You're one button off starting halfway down the shirt. Normally a tie would hide it, but you're wearing a skinny tie today."

I sighed heavily.

"Thanks, Heidi," I muttered, setting my paperwork down on her desk momentarily so I could inspect my error.

Heidi arched an eyebrow at me. As attractive as she was – and she was very pretty indeed – Heidi wasn't one of those stereotypically pretty secretaries who hit on executives for fun. She took her job very seriously, having dropped out of college due to personal issues. Cullen, Inc. was her second chance. She wasn't about to jeopardize her employment by allowing me to rebutton my shirt in front of her.

"I'm not going to fix it right here and now," I explained, trying not to be annoyed at her assumption.

"Mr. Cullen is running a few minutes late, so you have time to go to the bathroom," she replied in a clipped tone.

"I'll be fine," I said, picking up my paperwork and walking over to one of the waiting chairs.

"Are you sure?" Her tone was friendlier, perhaps out of pity. "His daughter called, hence the delay."

I patted my tie self-consciously. "Yes, I'm sure."

Several minutes passed by. I tried to keep myself occupied by checking my BlackBerry while Heidi fielded phone calls and typed away at her computer. I thought of sending an email to Bella, but figured that might seem clingy since it was so early in the morning. So instead I browsed the files I had brought with me.

Being relegated to this waiting spot was rather odd. I usually just stood around, or waited in Carlisle's office. A random passerby might even mistake me as an interviewee, waiting for the CEO to tell his assistant to give the go ahead.

Heidi, apparently, had noticed the slight deviance in my routine. I braced myself for the follow-up question.

"Are you feeling all right, sir?"

I was being asked this question far too much lately. I needed to snap out of it. Yes, my friendship with Bella was very important to me, but I was letting my personal issues affect my concentration.

"Just annoyed I didn't button my shirt properly," I replied not unkindly.

"You still look sharper than most people here," she remarked before going back to her typing.

This was all Peter's fault. Had he not struck up a conversation with Bella, then I wouldn't have this anxiety.

_Peter._

_Peter, Peter._

_Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater. Had a wife and couldn't keep her. _

Well, I certainly hoped that wasn't why he was hitting on Bella. If Peter had problems with commitment, then I would have to step in to prevent Bella from getting hurt. Not that I actually knew anything about the guy, besides the fact that he had business cards printed at some stage in his life.

"Mr. Cullen will see you now," Heidi told me, interrupting my musings. "Go straight in, sir."

"Thank you."

I strolled over to the door and let myself in.

Carlisle was standing in the middle of the room with a golf club in hand, having set up his putting practice mat. I glanced at the fake lawn, complete with hole and flag, and watched him miss a putt.

"Hmm, you distracted me," he said with a smile.

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," I agreed, trying not to smirk.

"Well, your misbuttoned shirt is a bit of an eyesore." He used his putter to point at me. "You should've chosen a fatter tie."

"Your assistant said the same thing."

"Because it's true," he remarked, walking over to pick up his errant golf ball. "You brought the paperwork, I see."

I held up the file. "I also have a report on your putting technique."

"Ah, yes," he said, playing along. "From Tiger Woods himself? Or from his wife? No, it can't be from his wife. She has more experience with a nine iron."

"In her defense, she _was _being cheated on," I mused darkly.

"Word of advice, Edward...Never get married."

I merely nodded, as I wasn't sure how to respond. Every now and then he made a dig about marriage and/or his ex-wife, Gianna. I knew he was seeing this Esme woman, but I also knew it wasn't quite yet serious between the two. Carlisle, after all, was the busiest man in the company.

Carlisle continued.

"If I were still a married man, then Gianna would be driving me crazy about this upcoming benefit we're attending. She always tried too hard when it came to these company functions. Esme knows I'll just send a car and meet her at the museum. No fuss, no drama."

"Definitely," I responded, knowing it was best to smile and nod in these circumstances.

"No, seriously. I'm right about these things," he continued, obviously detecting some doubt on my part. "Time is money, Edward. All that time I lost putting up with Gianna...Well, I could've brokered multi-million dollar deals in that time. You have to know what's important." He paused momentarily to position his golf ball. "Which brings me to the next point on the agenda: what was so important yesterday that you didn't want to be interrupted?"

I cleared my throat. "Don't get me wrong, Carlisle. I wasn't irritated," I insisted, watching him sink the putt. "I merely wanted a bit of downtime, that's all. And with all due respect, I really do believe Crowley could've handled the matter. He's a very good deputy."

Seemingly unconvinced, he frowned at me for several seconds. Then he tilted his head to indicate that he wanted me to retrieve his golf ball. While I didn't necessarily appreciate the fact that he was treating me like some sort of caddy, his point was made: he was the boss here. Not me. Not yet, anyway.

"You mentioned something last week about company baseball tickets," he said casually, keeping up the pretense that this wasn't some sort of inquisition.

"Yes, I believe I did," I replied, not wanting to elaborate too much.

He remained silent as I handed him his ball. Clearly it was still my turn to speak.

"That was indeed where I was yesterday," I added. "At a ball game."

He raised an eyebrow. "You've never been one to take advantage of such tickets. Why the change of heart?"

I matched his casual tone. "Oh, you know, a friend wanted to go. Nothing major."

"You just wanted some downtime," Carlisle remarked, echoing my earlier sentiment.

"Yes."

"Watching the Mets play ball?"

"Well, my friend is a fan. It's not a big deal."

I shrugged, not wanting to draw any more attention to my "friend." I didn't want to outright lie to the man by making up some imaginary companion. _Bob from Ernst & Young_, for example, or a _Mathias from Merrill Lynch_. It was best to keep things vague. The last thing I needed was an angry lecture on Cullen, Inc.'s non-fraternization policy, even though Bella and I were just friends.

Just. Friends.

Peter didn't want to be "just friends" with Bella.

Ugh.

"That certainly makes you a good friend," Carlisle replied, forcing me to refocus. "Sacrificing your time to watch such perennial losers, especially when we have perfectly good seats to the Yankees."

Somewhat irritated that he was insinuating my "friend" was in some way stupid for his or her allegiance to the Mets, I refrained from opening my mouth, for fear I'd say something suspicious. So I did nothing more than shrug once again. It was this evasiveness that prompted Carlisle to ask a follow-up question. After all, a shrewd businessman knows how to find out what they need to know. This situation was no different.

"Anyone I know, this friend of yours? You're not saying much. Makes me think you're hiding something."

I laughed as naturally as possible. "Okay, you got me. I gave your ex-wife a call."

He snorted. "That woman never lasted two innings in anything, if you know what I mean. Except when it was time to negotiate alimony, of course."

"Hmmm, yeah."

Distracted by thoughts of Gianna, Carlisle dropped the matter and wandered over to his desk, tapping furniture with his putter on the way. He ended up resting it against the plate glass window before sitting down.

"By the way, Alice is doing well," he informed me, dropping the golf ball into a desk drawer. "I know she's grateful for the work you do. Helping Jasper out with his portfolio. I'm grateful for that too."

"It's no big deal," I said modestly, taking a seat opposite him.

"Edward, the man can't even manage to keep pushpins out of his feet. He's a nice guy. Loves Alice. But he's not like you. Not a natural businessman."

"I think we're a dying breed," I joked.

"An endangered species, even. Make sure not to dilute your bloodline."

"I think it's a little early in the morning to be talking about continuing my bloodline."

"Fine, we'll revisit the matter after lunch. Maybe I'll call my old friend Edward Masen the First for his input."

"He's still in France with my mother."

He chuckled heartily.

"Okay, Edward Masen the Second. We have work to do." He turned his attention to his computer screen. "Now let's look at the submission we prepared last night..."

And with that we were well and truly back to business, though, truth be told, we probably hadn't left in the first place.

* * *

_**Bella**_

At twenty-six, after two relatively serious relationships and more dates than I could count, I was pretty sure I knew what I wanted, and didn't, out of a relationship.

I didn't want to have to carry exact change, deal with a slobbering drunk, clean semen from my hallway, have my face licked, or be chaperoned by my date's mother.

What I _did _want was love, companionship, some decent, regularly scheduled sex (with someone besides myself), and someone who didn't cringe when I opened my mouth. Wanting and having were two different things, however. I wasn't sure _what _I had. With anyone.

I was so confused.

Which was why Rose and I were sitting in the back of our favorite neighborhood bar on a Wednesday night. The doctor was IN. I did feel a little like Charlie Brown, though rather than being in love with the Little Red-Haired Girl, I was in..._something _with a Copper-Haired CFO. Same difference.

"So I don't really get it," Rose said, leaning back in the booth. "You and Edward spend time together, there's some hand holding, he gets pissed when you talk to other guys, but he never makes a move on you?"

I shook my head miserably.

"No double entendres or 'accidental' groping?"

"Nothing. He's a perfect gentleman," I whined.

"That's better than him being a caveman," she reasoned.

"I'm not so sure. At least then there wouldn't be any question about where I stood. He would grunt, throw me over his shoulder, and have his wicked way with me."

"You don't want that and you know it. Didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend like that a few years ago?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Jared."

I dated Jared right after I came to New York to start culinary school. He was gorgeous, well-built, and the sex was amazing. But conversations with him consisted of little more than grunting on his part, and sighs of frustration on mine. I learned quickly that sex, no matter how good, couldn't sustain a relationship for me, and we broke up after a few months. Sadly, that was probably the last time I had really good sex.

"Besides," Rose added, "Edward doesn't strike me as the Neanderthal type. His entire manner screams good breeding."

"I know," I lamented, taking a long sip of my Sam Adams Summer Ale, the most delicious beer ever created, and certainly a step up from the Budweiser Edward and I drank at the game. "He's such a gentleman it's almost sickening."

"Is he a gentleman because he's not interested or because he _is_ interested?" Her brow crinkled as she regarded me. "Or does that even make sense?"

"Shockingly, yes, it does make sense," I replied, wrapping my hands around my beer bottle. "And I don't know the answer."

"Could you...I don't know...ask him?" she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Or better yet," I replied, "I could leave a note on his desk that says, 'Do you like me?' with a check box for _yes_ and _no_. If he checks _yes_, maybe we could go to the Sock Hop together."

Rose laughed and took the last sip of her beer. "You're an ass," she said, smiling at me. "You know what I meant."

"I know, but the thing is, I like being around him and if I bring up anything more I'm afraid it will ruin our friendship. Besides, I don't think he's gotten this far in his professional life by not going and getting what he wants. If he wanted me, I'm sure he would have let me know."

"Can you deal with just being his friend?" Rose asked, holding two fingers up to our waiter as he passed by.

"Yeah, I guess," I said, resting my chin in my hand, my elbow on the table. "Even if he was interested, he works all the time and he's made it clear that his job comes first, before anything else."

She shuddered slightly. "I couldn't imagine living a life like that, where work was more important than the people in my life." She took a sip of her beer before she continued. "Maybe the note with the check boxes isn't a bad idea. You could pass it to him through his secretary."

"Shut up before I leave _you_ a note. And this one will have letters cut out from magazines," I warned.

"Are you going to call this Peter guy?" she asked, ignoring my threat of ransom notes. I'd always wanted to be intimidating, but it didn't appear I was any scarier than I had been in the third grade. That was when I went to my teacher and demanded, in my most adult voice, that she remove me from the role of snowflake number two and at the very least, make me snowflake number one. She refused, laughing at me, patting me on the head, and calling me cute.

Cute hadn't been what I was going for, and it looked like things hadn't changed much in the ensuing years.

"I doubt it," I said, finally answering her question about Peter, just as the waiter dropped off two more beers.

"Why not?" she challenged. "You're not in a relationship and you said Peter was nice and decent looking –"

"More than decent," I interrupted.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "He's nice and really, really good-looking. So what's the problem?"

"I don't know!" I cried, banging my forehead on the table. I picked my head up and watched a small piece of ice slide down the outside of my beer bottle before Rose asked me something I didn't expect.

"Bella, when was the last time you looked for a job in a restaurant?"

"A while, I guess," I replied, not sure why she was asking.

"A while...is it possible you're staying in a job that does nothing for you personally or professionally so you can be close to Edward?"

I pursed my lips, ready to defend myself and deny her claim, but I knew almost immediately that I couldn't. Because she was right. I hadn't bothered to look for a position as a chef for a long time, essentially since Edward and I became friends. I liked that we had that connection – it bound us together when maybe our friendship would wane if we didn't. I nodded my head slowly and looked down. "Yeah, that might be true," I hedged.

"Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you're refusing dates with potentially good guys and staying in a job you hate for a guy who probably just wants to be friends. Just think about that, okay? You know I support you in whatever you decide."

I nodded miserably and took a sip of beer, sure that she was right, but not wanting to admit it to myself. Maybe a note wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Once he checked the appropriate box, at least I would _know_.

* * *

I walked into work the next morning none the worse for wear, despite four beers and not getting home until close to midnight. Rose gave me a lot to think about, but in the meantime, I decided, I was going to enjoy my friendship with Edward and there was no reason to push anything.

I sat at my desk with my huge Dean & DeLuca coffee and opened my email, anticipating sending a note to Edward to tell him about a particularly interesting incident that happened at the bar the previous evening. As I was about halfway through my anecdote, Jake spoke from behind me.

"You need to monitor usage today," he said without the courtesy of a "good morning." He had absolutely no manners. Maybe he was raised by wolves. "Paul's out and it was his day."

"Fine," I said, turning to him briefly before looking back at my computer and launching the monitoring app we used.

A few minutes later, I still hadn't had a chance finish my email to Edward with Jake hovering around, but that became the least of my worries as the door to the IT Department opened, and in walked none other than Carlisle Cullen.

Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to pee.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who continues to read, review and recommend this story. **

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen. blogspot. com**

**Updates on Twitter: (at) jenndema and (at) belladonna1472**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you to SR for betaing, and Lucette212 for prereading. Special thanks to arfalcon for the swift kick in the ass.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Bella**_

I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't help my reaction to Carlisle Cullen. He was tall, powerful, wealthy, almost as ridiculously handsome as Edward (though not quite), and completely intimidating. Which meant that my palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding, and I was on the verge of incontinence.

There was only one thing that could make me feel less afraid in that moment, and much to my relief, he walked in right behind Mr. Cullen. All activity in the room ceased immediately; all eyes were on our visitors as they stepped into the room.

I let out a long breath and smiled at Edward. Even though I clearly saw him look directly at me, he didn't offer even the barest acknowledgment. My smile fell and my face warmed up when he glanced away from me and surveyed the room with a rather severe look on his face.

Mr. Cullen cleared his throat and looked around the room. "Good morning, everyone," he said jovially. "For those of you who may not know me, I'm Carlisle Cullen, the Chief Executive Officer and founder of Cullen, Inc., and this is Edward Masen, our Chief Financial Officer. I founded this company thirty-five years ago and built it from three employees working out of a small windowless office into what it is today. And it wouldn't be what it is without _everyone_ in the company, including every person in this room. Thank you. I promise I'm not here for nefarious reasons, I simply enjoy meeting everyone who works for me and I rarely get the opportunity during day to day operations. And I'm a man who makes his own opportunities. So let's get to it, shall we?"

Everyone in the room was silent, but there was some nodding of heads and uncomfortable coughing.

"Now," he began, motioning to Edward who held out an open leather portfolio, which Mr. Cullen scanned quickly. "Who is Jacob Black?"

"Here, sir," Jake said, raising his hand as if he were in elementary school and Mr. Cullen was taking attendance.

"Ah, Mr. Black," Mr. Cullen replied, moving forward to shake his hand. "I see that you're in charge of this department."

"Yes, sir," he replied. I cringed as he held out his wet noodle for Mr. Cullen to shake, and I swore I heard a cracking sound before Mr. Cullen let go.

"And how long have you been here?"

"Three years," Jake said nervously, running his palm up and down his thigh. Mr. Cullen noticed and shook his head slightly, and I wondered what Jake was thinking. You don't wipe off the handshake of the man who signs your paycheck.

And then something dawned on me. In the months that I'd been here, Jake spent a lot of time (when he was still speaking to me) telling me how "close" he and Mr. Cullen were, and how he was given assignments directly from the top. I stood there and shook my head at his lies and fabrications, actually feeling sorry for him. He was trying to make himself into something he wasn't. He must have been very unhappy with who he was. I knew I was.

I noticed Edward surveying Jake with narrowed eyes, sizing him up. Maybe hearing me talk about him so often made him curious. Or maybe, despite what he told me before, he really was gay and was checking him out. I shuddered at the thought of Jake and Edward together. Something told me Disney was unlikely to invest in the story of Beauty and the Mouth Breathing Beast, even for the direct-to-DVD market.

"I gave Mr. Crowley all the receipts," Jake suddenly blurted out. "I accounted for everything."

"You had a visit from Mr. Crowley?" Mr. Cullen asked Jake before turning to Edward.

"There were some issues," Edward said smoothly. "It's been resolved."

Mr. Cullen nodded his head and turned back to Jake. "Right. So, Mr. Black, how many in your department?"

"Sixteen," Jake replied, his mouth hanging open.

"They're budgeted for twenty-two," Edward said, answering Mr. Cullen's unasked question.

Mr. Cullen nodded. "Well, Mr. Black, I'd like you to introduce me to everyone in your department, starting with this young lady right here," he said, looking directly at me and smiling.

I groaned softly and crossed my legs, sure I was going to lose it any second. I hadn't even finished half of my coffee, how could I need to relieve myself so badly?

I looked to Edward for support, but he was looking down at the portfolio. If he would just look at me, maybe offer me a small smile, I thought maybe could get through this, but he wasn't even acknowledging my existence. I knew we weren't supposed to flaunt our friendship at work, but I thought this was going too far in the other direction. He might have thought he was protecting our friendship, but his obstinacy had the potential to have the exact opposite effect. We were literally not seeing eye to eye on this issue. It was like he was playing the opposite of a staring contest, one he hadn't bothered to tell me about.

Mr. Cullen approached me, Jake at his side, with Edward trailing behind.

_Oh, dear God, please don't let me blurt out anything too stupid._

"This is Bella. Uh, Isabella Swan," Jake introduced through his mouth breathing.

I stood up and gazed down at my shoes, not wanting to see Edward avoiding me or Mr. Cullen looking at me. I felt trapped and anxious and there was a distinct possibility that if I looked at Mr. Cullen, I would pee and/or vomit.

"Ms. Swan," Mr. Cullen said, holding out his hand. Slowly, I moved my hand to his and grasped it as firmly as I could, but I was still staring down, afraid of what I would say if I looked him in the eyes. Like a deer in the headlights, unable to move even though disaster was looming before me.

"Ms. Swan, are you going to look at me?" he asked pleasantly.

I glanced pleadingly at Edward, but he was staring at Mr. Cullen's back, purposely denying me the support he had to know I needed at that moment. He was making me feel worse than I already did, if that was even possible – like I'd been punched in the gut. Twice. With steel-toed boots. By Mean Joe Green.

I raised my eyes to Mr. Cullen and he was looking at me kindly, if not a bit curiously. "It's nice to meet you," I said softly, biting my lip to prevent myself from saying anything additional and possibly stupid.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied, letting go of my hand and smiling so warmly at me, which put me at ease. I was proud I didn't say something stupid. That was probably why I let my guard down. "What do you do here, Ms. Swan?"

"I read your emails," I said, slapping my hand over my mouth before I decided to open it again and make things worse. Which of course I did anyway. "I mean, um..." My eyes flicked over to Edward, desperate for some help. He was looking down and his jaw was clenched, almost as if he was angry. I was such an embarrassment, no wonder he didn't want anyone to know about our friendship. "I don't look at your emails, just everyone else's."

I looked back at Mr. Cullen and he still had a kind, if confused look on his face. "And do you enjoy your work, Ms. Swan?"

"Not really," I blurted out. Mr. Cullen coughed lightly and since no one else was saying anything, I figured I'd try to fix my word vomit. "I just mean that I'd rather be doing something else." I bit my lip and groaned softly, wondering how much worse this could get. I took a deep breath and God help me, began again. "I'm so sorry. I like it here very much and I'm grateful for this job. Please don't fire me."

"I hadn't planned on it. Firings are a bit below my pay grade," Mr. Cullen said dryly.

"They're way above mine. Maybe Mr. Masen here can help us out."

Mr. Cullen's eyes sparkled with interest as he answered me. "Well, firing _him_ isn't below my pay grade." He turned slightly to Edward, the corner of his mouth turned up. Edward, for his part, looked completely taken aback.

"Maybe you could find his replacement via reality show, like Donald Trump," I said. "You could call it _Top CFO _or_ So You Think You Can Add_."

I bit my lip and immediately wondered how long I would have to pack up my desk when Mr. Cullen threw his head back and laughed. I glanced over at Edward, whose lips were twitching as he tried not to smile.

I took a deep breath and swallowed nervously; just because he thought I was funny didn't mean I hadn't been incredibly rude to both the CEO and CFO of the company. Maybe I could get the Board of Directors down here to round out my morning; I could kick them in the shins or spill coffee on their keyboards.

Edward suddenly cleared his throat and finally said something. "Shall we move on?"

"Yes, let's," Mr. Cullen responded smoothly. "It's been a rare pleasure, Ms. Swan." He turned to Jacob. "Lead on, Mr. Black."

They all turned and walked away, leaving me to collapse in my swivel chair, trembling and almost crying from nerves. I put my head down on my desk, hiding from Edward and Mr. Cullen behind my partition wall, and took a few deep breaths, sure I was going to vomit on my shoes. I'd suffered from nerves for years, ever since my parents died. I wasn't sure what it was, but since that time, I hadn't been able to handle stress well at all. I put plenty of thought into why, but all I could come up with was that when I lost my parents, I lost my safety net. And without them to fall back on, I sometimes felt untethered and without the safety of someone who would always be there for me, no questions asked. Rose was my friend, and I knew I could rely on her and Emmett, but they could leave me at any moment. I really was alone, with no one to depend on. Except maybe Depends, if the threat of incontinence got any worse.

A few minutes later, my nerves finally under control, I picked my head up and saw Edward and Mr. Cullen at the back of the room. Mr. Cullen was talking to Carol, one of the software engineers, but Edward was looking over at my area with a concerned look on his face. When my head popped up, he turned quickly back to Mr. Cullen, who was now moving back to the front of the room, and whispered something in his ear.

Mr. Cullen nodded at whatever Edward said and they prepared to leave, apparently finished with their tour. Mr. Cullen stopped when he got to the door and turned around, addressing the room. "It has been a real pleasure meeting all of you. My door, and Mr. Masen's, is always open if you should need anything. Thank you for all you do." And with that, he turned and walked out, followed dutifully by Edward. Or maybe I should be calling him Mr. Masen.

Edward's behavior nagged at me, making me more and more irritated as the morning wore on. Maybe I had expectations of him that weren't fair or right, but I was nobody's dirty little secret and I resented that he made me feel that way. After my conversation with Rose the previous evening, coupled with what happened today, the truth of my relationship with Edward was becoming abundantly clear.

I was holding out for something that would never happen.

He'd taken me to a ball game, sure, and we met once a week for coffee, but even though he'd met Rose and Emmett, I'd never met any of his friends and he never asked me to go anywhere with him where we might be seen by people he knew. He talked about having to attend fundraisers and benefits and how boring they were, but never once invited me along.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't blame him because he never promised me anything except in my imagination.

I wouldn't allow myself to put my life on hold for someone who didn't want me. I was firmly planted in Edward's friend zone, and there was no Get Out of Friend Zone Free card in this game. If we were playing Monopoly, I was Baltic Avenue and he was Park Place, and never the twain shall meet. In public, anyway.

I didn't doubt that he enjoyed spending time with me; that wasn't something so easily faked. I wasn't about to give up on our friendship, but I wanted more than a friend. If Edward wasn't the person to give me that, maybe there was someone who could.

I rooted around in my purse and came out with the card Peter gave me, then turned to my computer and opened my email.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: August 19, 2010 at 12:26 PM  
Subject: Visitation Rights**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I'm back at my desk, eating a fruit salad Seth has just fetched for me. I'm probably going to give myself indigestion from eating it so quickly, but it's entirely necessary. I'm meeting with Jenks from Security in fifteen minutes, and the last time I ate a fruit salad in front of him he made "melon" jokes just as Victoria walked into my office. Needless to say, his comments were deemed to be inappropriate and he was sent to in-house counseling. I'm not one for repeating history, as I'm not sure how much he learned in those sessions, so I'm going to play it safe.

I'm sorry I didn't give you any warning about the IT visit. It was a last minute schedule change. You seemed nervous, but you did fine; Carlisle was happy with the visit, overall.

Anyway, I better finish this salad. Hopefully the Security meeting won't take too long.

Edward Masen  
Berry Busy  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
Date: August 19, 2010 at 4:50 PM  
Subject: Lesson Learned**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Please don't eat your salad too quickly, I wouldn't want you to choke.

I was nervous. I think that was painfully obvious to everyone involved, Mr. Cullen included, and something that anyone who knows me well could have anticipated. I don't do well in those situations, though I think this time I was able to keep my word vomit to a minimum. Still, that was embarrassing. I hope Mr. Cullen doesn't think I stalk his emails.

But rest assured, if I ever make CIO, I'll be certain to look everyone in the eye and treat them with kindness, just like Mr. Cullen did. My friends though, I'll be sure to pretend they don't exist and clench my jaw when they're embarrassing me. You understand.

Isabella Swan  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Edward Masen  
To: Isabella Swan  
Date: August 20, 2010 at 1:16 PM  
Subject: Misunderstanding?**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I'm not sure if I'm misreading your tone, but it appears that you're upset with me.

I assure you that my behavior wasn't ill-intentioned; I was just trying to keep things professional for the sake of the visit. I honestly didn't mean to come off as not caring about your anxiety. I'm sorry, Bella. To be quite honest, I thought you did fine with Carlisle. Not only did you make him laugh, but he seemed to appreciate your honesty throughout the conversation. It was in light of this impression that I didn't offer you a helping hand, so to speak. I recognized that you could hold your own.

Please accept my apology. I really didn't mean to hurt you. I will apologize in person when we meet for coffee on Sunday.

Edward Masen  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

**From: Isabella Swan  
To: Edward Masen  
Date: August 20, 2010 at 5:02 PM  
Subject: Perfectly Clear**

Dear Mr. Masen,

You know, I'm guessing you're not intimidated by many people or situations. That's why I suspect you're dismissing my anxiety regarding Mr. Cullen's visit. Rest assured, it's real, even though I wish it wasn't. It's something I'm well aware of and have been working on for many years. I hope to be better some day, but for now, this is who I am, even if you don't quite understand it.

Maybe I did do well on my own, I don't really know. But a reassuring smile or even the barest eye contact from you might have helped. Not only did I have to deal with my anxiety surrounding Mr. Cullen, I had to wonder why you weren't even acknowledging me.

But I'm prattling on, aren't I? Your apology is accepted and we need speak no more about it. I'll get over it. Hopefully by the time I get to D&D on Sunday.

Isabella Swan  
Cullen, Inc.

* * *

_**Edward**_

One thing I'd noticed from years of being a corporate employee was that I always seemed to get annoyed when a client or colleague arrived unusually early for a meeting or chat. Time may be money, but arriving _really_ early wasn't necessarily going to generate _more_ money. As much as I valued punctuality in the workplace, I honestly found excessive earliness irksome – it made me wonder about the person. Were they particularly nervous about the meeting? Was their timepiece fifteen minutes fast? Did they get to Midtown by way of monster truck, crushing everything in sight to clear the roads? Did they wrongly assume that Cullen, Inc. security was some sort of imperial guard that required three quarters of an hour to slay?

Well, I now had reason to be wondering about myself. I was twenty-five minutes early for my Sunday morning coffee with Bella. _Twenty-five_ minutes. Thank God entrance to Dean & DeLuca wasn't predicated on a security check; if someone were to frisk me, they might notice I had time up my sleeve.

The reason I was slightly anxious was because I'd offended Bella with my apparently flippant attitude. Not only had I upset her with my behavior during Carlisle's visit to IT, but I'd been dismissive her nerves afterward. I knew she would be nervous when we entered the room, but I thought she was strong enough to handle it. And she was; I couldn't remember the last time Carlisle had laughed like that on a departmental visit. Then afterward, I'd figured I was being encouraging by telling her she did fine, but I hadn't been sensitive enough about her feelings. Yes, the likely explanation was that she thought I had let her down. The reassuring thing, however, was that she was still meeting me for coffee. Surely she would've canceled on me if I'd upset her terribly.

_T-minus twenty-four minutes_.

Although, that kind of sounded like _tea minus twenty-four minutes_, and we weren't meeting for tea. We were meeting for coffee. Not that _coffee minus twenty-four minutes _was any better, since you'd think the caffeine would give you more time and not less.

_I need to get a hold of myself. _

After browsing among the foodstuffs for a good fifteen minutes, I wandered back to the espresso bar to order our coffees. Since this was our weekly tradition, I of course knew Bella's order by heart. And as an added gesture of goodwill – since I really did feel bad –I figured I'd get Bella a pastry of some sort. It was then that I spied a pumpkin scone.

_Pumpkin. _

_Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater. _

I gave the scone a dirty look before ordering a cherry danish instead. The barista gave me an odd look, but I chose to believe he was merely having abdominal pain from having digested a bad, probably pumpkin flavored, scone. With my order having been placed, I sat down at our usual table and tried to focus on the Finance section of the _Times_. While many of the articles contained grim news about profit forecasts and consumer confidence, I found the newspaper calming. It stopped me from fidgeting and worrying, which was arguably what a lot of early people did.

Soon enough, the coffees and danish were delivered, just in time for Bella's arrival.

I immediately stood up for her as she approached, my mood brightening considerably when she smiled at me. Perhaps I wasn't completely in the doghouse. Maybe I just had a paw in the doghouse.

I smiled in return. "Hey."

"You're here. I think this is a first," she replied, gesturing at the table.

"Oh, really? I can be early sometimes too," I said as nonchalantly as possible.

"Just so long as you're never premature," she said, smiling a little, but with an edge to her voice that made me feel ill at ease.

I chuckled as I sat down again, trying to tramp down the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I am not a fan of being too early, yes. I bought you a cherry danish. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Thanks." She sat down and took a sip of her coffee. "So is there a reason you're early? Do you have to leave to go to work or something?"

I tried not to cringe at the question. My Sunday mornings with Bella were becoming just as important as my Saturday morning leisure time. I would only reschedule on her if the matter was one of corporate life or death.

"Oh no, I'm not going to work today at all," I explained calmly. "I just didn't want to be late."

"You're not working today?" she asked, clearly surprised. "But it's Sunday. You always work on Sunday."

"Ah yes, but I heard this rumor that it's supposed to be the day of rest."

"For most people, yes. For ambitious soon-to-be CEO's, not so much. Or so I've heard. My experience in that area is limited," she said, smiling at me and taking a bite of her danish. I guess it was good because she made this quiet humming sound that made my face flush and my stomach knot up.

I took a sip of coffee to regain my composure. "I like being the only soon-to-be CEO on your social calendar," I assured her. "I would try to takeover any competition. In a 'buy them out' way, not in a traditional merger and acquisition way. I don't want to _merge_ with anyone. Sounds like a mutant existence."

"Right," she said, looking down, her smile faltering. "We wouldn't want you merging with anyone. That might require a compromise on your time, and we couldn't have that, now could we?"

"What..." I wanted to defend myself, to tell her that a merger wasn't something I was adverse to, but I quickly realized there was nothing I could possibly say. I'd already made it clear that work was my priority. Why would I expect her to think any differently? But maybe it was time _I_ did before I lost something much more important.

Bella cleared her throat and her face brightened. "Don't worry, I promise you're the only CEO, CFO or any other C insert-letter-here O on my social calendar."

"Good." I smiled at her, but I wasn't feeling particularly happy. "Listen, Bella, I'm really sorry about the way I acted last we–"

I stopped short when she held her hand up. "No need. I probably over-reacted anyway. I can't expect you to anticipate everything I'll be feeling. You're my friend, not my therapist." Her voice sounded so reasonable, but she was tearing nervously at a napkin.

I opened my mouth to tell her that she hadn't over-reacted and that I should have done better, but she spoke before I could. "So why no work today?" she pressed. "Is there some special occasion I'm not aware of? Is it Arbor Day?"

"Oh, is it? Well, I certainly hope all those people with a tree-loving fetish stay indoors," I said, recalling the email where she mentioned dendrophilia. I picked up another section of the newspaper and shrugged. "I just needed a full day off, I think."

"And what do you plan to _do_ with your whole day off?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," I answered, slightly nervous at her insistent tone. "I was hoping you'd give me some ideas. Maybe I could learn how to bake cherry danishes. Or maybe apple danishes – mix it up a little."

"Sounds nutritious," she remarked. "Be sure to tell your doctor about your copious pastry consumption during your appointment next week. "

I looked at her in confusion. I certainly didn't remember saying anything like that. In fact, I hadn't had a reason to see my doctor for a while now.

"Um… I don't remember making an appointment. Perhaps Future Edward arranged it without telling me. He, of course, would have prior knowledge of any ailment that will soon bother me."

Bella's reaction was instantaneous: her eyes went as wide as saucers, she blushed, and she bit her lip anxiously. "Sorry about that," she said after a moment. "I, um...I was emailing someone else last week – someone who had a doctor's appointment – and I got confused."

It was the look on her face that prompted me to ask a follow-up question. I knew she didn't have many friends and I found it odd that she was so embarrassed about her mistake.

"Oh, right. Um...anyone I know?"

"Um, no." She quickly shook her head and began rambling. "Well, _yes_. Not really. You met him at the same time I did. Though you didn't really meet him so much as give him dirty looks and ask me not to sit next to him."

It took me an extended moment to comprehend the revelation.

She'd been emailing Peter.

Floored, I simply stared at her in silence. The thought of Bella engaging in email correspondence with another man made me feel...I don't know. Possessive? I certainly felt angry. She may have declared that I was the only _CFO_ on her social calendar, but perhaps I wasn't the only man. I suddenly felt inadequate.

I wanted to tell her that he couldn't give her anything I couldn't. That I could try to free up more time for her…for us.

Then I remembered what Peter was potentially offering her.

A relationship. A merger, if you will.

Assuming he was even that well intentioned. For all I knew, he only wanted sex. Before I could stop myself, the image of Peter and Bella in bed together invaded my mind, causing a surge of jealousy that I didn't quite expect. Suddenly, the vision morphed so that _I_ was the one in bed with Bella. And that particular vision, I had to admit, was actually quite pleasant.

I cleared my throat. I needed to say _something_. Bella was waiting for a response.

"Ah. Peter." I paused, needing to maintain my composure. "You made use of his business card?"

She traced the rim of her coffee cup for a moment, stalling. "Well, yes," she finally admitted. "But not for business purposes. I hope he doesn't get fired for misuse of company property for handing out a business card for non-business related activities."

I felt ill. Did I really want to hear about this? I was her friend, no matter how I felt about her potential date with someone else. I was duty-bound to discuss this with her, right?

I forced my words out.

"You're emailing each other. That's... Are you seeing him then? Not that it's necessarily any of my business. Personal business, not business business. In fact, it's none of my business business either."

I shook my head, feeling like an idiot with an inferiority complex.

_I hate this._

"We're going to see each other, but not quite yet," Bella answered carefully. "He's going to be away for a couple of weeks. On business, funnily enough."

Business. Right. So now I had a few weeks to prepare for the fact that my friend was going to start seeing this guy.

If this was what she wanted, it was my duty to be happy for her. As much as I detested the thought of her and Peter together, I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship by being insensitive.

Time to man up and take it on the chin. I couldn't expect someone as smart and beautiful as Bella to be single forever.

I smiled sadly and looked into my coffee cup. "Guess I did a good thing by bringing you to the game, huh?"

I couldn't even bring myself to look up to see her reaction. Her danish should've come with a knife. I wanted to stab something. Or someone. That being said, it would've only been a butter knife. And I was sure Peter was busy buttering Bella up so she'd go out with him.

_Oh, now I definitely feel sick._

How could this be happening?

I kept staring into the coffee cup, but then I remembered it was actually _tea leaves _that could apparently divine the future, not coffee grounds.

Bella broke the awkward silence. "He's back on the eighteenth, actually, so I probably won't see him until then."

The date set alarm bells off in my head. Of course, they weren't easily heard, what with everything else going on up there. But once the numbers settled, I suppose the sound cut through all the pumpkin hate. That was the date of the benefit Carlisle had been asking me to attend. And if Bella already had something to do, she wouldn't be able to go out with Peter.

"Oh, the eighteenth. I was actually going to ask you to accompany me to a fundraiser that night," I mused. "But I guess you might have plans..." Part of me hated that I was being so manipulative, but I couldn't stomach the thought of her with another man – I had to do _something_.

Bella straightened up. "Oh, well, nothing's definite. Were you really going to ask me to go somewhere with you?" she asked, blinking in what appeared to be surprise.

I nodded. "Yes. I think your company would make the night much more enjoyable. But don't feel pressured...I can always go alone or with somebody else. Seth can put in an ad in the company newsletter. Or should I say the company's company newsletter? Platonic company, of course."

Her response was swift. "No, that's all right. I wouldn't want to put Seth out. I'm sure he's busy enough fetching you fruit and square hamburgers." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'd like to go."

She appeared to be sincere about wanting to go, which I counted as a small win. Granted, I was really only delaying the inevitable. She would go out with him eventually and God forbid, she might even have a good time. Then our emails and occasional dinners would slow as their relationship progressed and she found herself with less time, then our weekly coffee date would cease because she would spend a lazy Sunday in bed with him instead of having coffee with me. Her _friend_.

I closed my eyes briefly, biting back a groan of misery.

"Okay, great. I'll email you the details," I replied, trying to sound upbeat. "Or give you a hardcopy of the invitation next week." I laughed nervously. "Save you from inbox confusion."

I wondered how long it would be until I was sidelined. I wish I knew. After all, I worked better with schedules.

"So, who are we benefiting?" Bella questioned.

"The Frick Collection. Carlisle's on the Board." Carlisle, and how I would answer his questions about why I was at the fundraiser with a fellow employee was something I refused to ponder at the moment. I had enough to deal with.

"The Frick_ Collection_? I thought it was a museum."

"It is, but it's pretentiously called the Frick Collection. As in collection of artwork."

"I get it," she said, biting her thumbnail. Now we could add being condescending to my list of sins. Why was this so hard, and why did my stomach hurt all of a sudden? This day wasn't going well at all.

"I've heard of it but I've never been," she continued, smiling mischievously at me. "Will I be Frack to your Frick or Frick to your Frack?"

I shrugged. "You're my guest. It's only fair that you be able to pick whether you're Frick or Frack."

"I think we'll have to see how the night goes before I decide something that major," she said good-naturedly. "I wouldn't want to choose before I knew what I was getting into."

"Sounds fair to me." While I was happy that she was going with me, it didn't make up for the fact I was potentially being replaced. I glanced down at her plate and pushed back my chair. Maybe my stomach hurt because I was hungry. "I might get myself a danish too."

"Yeah, hurry up and get it now before Mr. Cullen calls and interrupts your _day off,_" she quipped, using air quotes.

I grinned at her, putting up a happy facade.

"If that old man tries to interrupt my pastry time...Well, he doesn't know who the Frick he's messing with!" I declared.

"Hmmm, well if he doesn't think twice about interrupting a baseball game, danish would seem like small potatoes to him. Or small pastries." She was smiling, but there was something else there. Her eyes looked sad, and I wondered why. Certainly it wasn't the fact that I may miss out on some tasty baked goods because of my work.

"He usually doesn't think twice. He thinks he's right the first time," I joked, wanting very much to erase the unhappiness from her pretty face.

We both laughed, and in that moment I was reminded of how much I enjoyed our friendship. We'd come a long way from the original reprimanding email and response. The truth was, friendships weren't static. They were constantly evolving and required attention. While I wasn't an expert, I at least knew that much.

I got up and went looking for that cherry danish, all the while thinking that perhaps it was time for me to look for a "special someone" of my own. But the fact was I was only interested in maintaining what I had with Bella. I wasn't prepared to lose her.

Unfortunately, I hadn't factored Peter into the equation. There might be an argument for _preparing_ to lose Bella.

Then again, I wasn't one for being too early.

_I guess I'll just have to wait and see. _

* * *

**We'll be writing a DMM outtake for Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness. Lots of great authors are participating. Please don't forget to donate. http: / fandom4saa . wordpress . com**

**Thank you for reading.**

**Twitter: (at)jenndema and (at)belladonna1472  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**Many thanks to SR, Lucette212, and arfalcon.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

I wasn't one of those women who had a closet full of shoes. It had nothing to do with cost; there were plenty of stores in the city and sales were abundant. It stemmed more from my practical nature – why have more than I needed? My shoe collection consisted of a pair of running shoes, Keds, all-purpose black flats for work, summer sandals, and a pair of pumps that matched my only formal dress. I'd never put much thought into my shoe collection.

Until now.

I was sitting on my couch, in the aforementioned only formal dress, holding my left pump in one hand, and the heel in the other.

I'd worn them to run down to CVS when I discovered that my rarely used mascara had dried out. I was already dressed, and I figured a few block walk wouldn't prove disastrous. But it didn't come without a price.

Walking back to my apartment, my phone had alerted me to a new text. It was from Peter.

I read it quickly, thinking about my response. He was back in town today and though I had told him I had plans for this evening, he wanted to know when he could take me out. I enjoyed our emails and the one brief phone conversation we'd had, but there was one inescapable fact about Peter that made me hesitate.

He wasn't Edward.

I was answering the text, in my own non-committal way, when my foot missed the curb, my ankle twisting as the heel completely separated from the rest of my shoe. I hobbled all the way home, iced my ankle, applied my newly acquired mascara, and then attempted to fix my shoe. Like an olde tyme cobbler.

I'd tried fixing it with Krazy Glue, but all I succeeded in doing was gluing my fingers together. So I'd used some nail polish remover to un-stick them, which worked like a charm. But the nail polish remover also did exactly what the bottle claimed and removed the nail polish from one of my nails.

Now I was sitting here, expecting Edward any minute, with no shoes to wear and now completely unpolished nails. Though I did have very dark, long lashes thanks to the mascara. But I doubted anyone would be looking at my eyes when I was hobbling around like a pirate with a peg-leg. All I needed to complete my ensemble was an eye patch and a parrot for my shoulder.

In the two weeks since Edward had invited me to the Frick Fundraiser – or, the Frickin' Fundraiser, as we'd dubbed it – I'd been preparing myself. I realized when Edward forwarded the invitation to me that I would be in what I would normally consider a very uncomfortable and anxiety-inducing situation. Dressed up for a night on the town with people, Mr. Cullen included, who would make me nervous by their mere presence, wasn't exactly my idea of fun. But I had two things working in my favor. One, I would have Edward with me and he tended to soothe my nerves. Two, I 'd been practicing.

For the past few weeks I'd been putting myself in situations that would normally make me lose control of certain bodily functions. I ate in the company cafeteria every day, even going so far as to engage some of the people outside of IT in casual conversation. Though I doubted some of what they talked about could be considered casual. Emily from Accounting told everyone at the table about her yearly skin infections, and how when they flared up, her husband didn't want to touch her, while Claire from Reception regaled us with tales of her newborn son's bowel movements. But on the whole, I'd actually started to enjoy being around people and even opening up about myself a little bit.

Another step I took was exposing myself to more executives in the company. Not in the "wearing a trench coat and nothing else" kind of way. But when work orders would come in for repair or maintenance on the computer of one of the higher-ups, I would ask Jake if I could take it, and he was usually accommodating. He seemed a little taken aback by my behavior, but was surprisingly encouraging, calling me, condescendingly, his "little go-getter." I wanted to tell him where he could go and get, but decided to keep my mouth shut since I needed his cooperation.

In most of those situations, my contact with executives was minimal – they weren't normally at their desks when a lowly IT person came to fix their computers. But my time with Mr. Crowley, who remembered me from his visit to IT, was a real eye-opener, and made me realize that while some people who held power wielded it indiscriminately and with cruelty or indifference, there were people who didn't. Mr. Crowley was, in a word, kind. Like Edward, he didn't seem to look down on me based on my job or age, but engaged me in conversation as an equal.

He asked me about Jake and if he'd been behaving himself, which I assured him he had, and then he asked me if I enjoyed my job. Taking my time to think before I spoke, I told him I did indeed, and thanked him for asking. Then we had a very nice conversation about what my job entailed and what I liked most about it. It was all very civilized, and I realized that he actually cared about my answers to his questions. I didn't know if he and Edward were a rare species, but my interaction with both of them was helping me over a hurdle I once thought impossible to overcome.

But my new found confidence wasn't going to fix my shoe or re-polish my nails. I tried Edward on his cell, hoping at the very least that I would have time to run to the Payless a few blocks away so I could find something serviceable, but he didn't answer. Now I was stuck vacillating between taping a note on the door and leaving, and trying duct tape to refasten my heel. As I sat and contemplated, there was a soft knock on the door. Since I didn't buzz anyone up, I was hoping it was one of my neighbors, magically offering me shoes, or perhaps my fairy Godmother, come to answer my silent plea.

As I hobbled to the door with one shoe on, the other in my hand, I should have realized who it was. I should have taken the time to prepare myself. I should have known this would happen, but I was so wrapped up in my shoes and my ruined twelve dollar manicure that it didn't occur to me until I saw it.

Edward in a tuxedo.

_Good Lord in Heaven._

And it wasn't the cheap rental kind that teenage boys wear to the prom. No, this was tailored to perfection and fit him perfectly in all the right places.

"Hey, your front door is broken. I walked right in. You should have the landlord look at that," he said by way of greeting.

My knees got a little weak so I grabbed onto the doorjamb and held on, my leg with the unshod foot bent behind me. My other hand was still holding my ruined shoe. Embarrassed, I tried to put it on. In the process, I let go of the doorjamb, which made me lose my already precarious balance. So I grabbed the next closest thing, which was Edward.

"Whoa," he said, resting his hands on my waist. "You okay?"

"Huh?" I asked, looking up at him, thankful that he was steadying me with his hands.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his brow knit in concern and his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me just a little bit closer. Which just added to my lightheadedness.

"Bella," he said cautiously. "You're really beginning to worry me. Please say something."

"Sorry," I croaked, earnestly trying to avoid saying the first stupid thing that came to mind. "I just...um...sorry." I thought about pulling away, but really, I might be awkward and silly, but I wasn't an idiot. I would enjoy this while I could.

"I ran out of mascara, and I really needed some, so I went to the store."

"That's...good. Did you find what you needed?" he asked, a genuinely confused look on his face.

Realizing he only had half the story, I held up my ruined shoe for him to see. "I broke my shoe on the way back and I don't have another pair."

"Right. Is that why you're unsteady on your feet?"

I looked up into his worried, but still stupidly gorgeous green eyes, and sighed a little. Maybe I was a closet masochist, because apparently I loved torturing myself with something I couldn't have.

"Yes, that and I didn't eat today," I explained.

I watched his jaw clench and his face harden, and my heart sped, wondering what I'd done to make him angry. He gently released me and walked into my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.

Ah.

He closed it and turned to me, a much softer look on his face. "You have food. Why didn't you eat?"

"Edward..." Did he really not get it yet? For all my practice and efforts to overcome my fears, I wouldn't change that dramatically in two short weeks.

I stood there and watched as realization dawned on his face and he shook his head, taking a deep breath. Then his eyes popped open as he surveyed me slowly from head to toe. His face flushed and he swallowed loudly, and I felt his stare right down to the place where my pantyhose were bunching uncomfortably.

"You look...really nice," he said, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. He regarded me silently for a moment before pulling out his BlackBerry. He scrolled through and then put it to his ear. "Riley Dawson, please."

It was just a beat before he spoke again. "Riley, Edward Masen...Good, listen I need a favor. I need to swing by and pick up a pair of women's shoes...No, no, they're not for me," he said, smiling and laughing softly. "They're for a friend...No, I'm not just saying that as a cover, I'm actually bringing her with me...We'll see you in fifteen minutes." He looked at me again and then spoke into the phone. "Make that twenty. We have another stop to make on the way."

He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket, looking at me expectantly. "We should go."

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, sorry. Riley's my shopper. He'll take care of you, don't worry. But we should go since we have to make a stop on the way back uptown."

"Where else are we going?" I asked as I went to the bedroom to get my flats while he took his phone back out of his pocket.

"You need something to eat," he called. "They won't serve us anything substantial for a couple of hours and I left my smelling salts at home."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked as I grabbed my bag and sweater from the couch.

He shook his BlackBerry at me and smiled. "Looks like we can acquire some hamburgers just a couple of blocks from here. Nothing cures hunger quite like square meat. All those right angles will be good for you. You can eat in the car on the way."

When Edward's driver handed me a sack of food ten minutes later, I nearly cried. I wanted to devour it, hungry as I was, but I was mindful of not only my manners, and of Edward watching me with a smirk on his face, but of my dress. I already needed a new pair of shoes; having to buy a new dress might send me into bankruptcy.

Which was a funny thought, until we stopped in front of Bergdorf Goodman and I realized bankruptcy was a real possibility.

"Oh, Edward, I don't know..." I said, wiping my hands on a bright yellow napkin.

"Don't worry about it. Come on." He smiled and helped me out of the car, leading me inside where we were greeted by a man about my age with bleached blond hair and soft brown eyes.

"Hey, Riley," Edward said to the man. "Thanks for meeting us."

"Oh, honey," he gasped, putting a hand over his heart. "I love you in that tuxedo." He kissed Edward on both cheeks then turned to me. "Oh, my, who is this vision of loveliness? Please tell me she's your sister or your cousin or something. I'm still holding out hope for you."

"This is my friend Bella," Edward said. I was really beginning to hate that word.

Riley grabbed my hand and pulled me into the store, Edward trailing behind us.

"Friend. Right," Riley said, still holding my hand and leading me through the store. We went so fast that everything was a blur of mannequins, mirrors and glass until we came to a large room. A mirror covered one entire wall, and there were chairs, racks of clothes, and soft music floating in from hidden speakers. No one else was around, and I assumed it was one of those private dressing rooms I'd only heard about. It was all very luxurious.

"Okay, let's see you," Riley said, holding me at arms length and surveying me closely. "Hm, I think I have just the thing to go with that pretty dress you're wearing. You sit down and I'll go check and see if we have your size. You're a six, right?"

I nodded and sat down in one of the plush chairs, looking up at Edward, who was smiling at me. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just want to tell Riley something."

He turned and walked away, leaving me to fidget nervously, the square hamburger and french fries I had just eaten sitting like a rock in my stomach. I really needed to plan better. Lessons for the day: always have an extra pair of shoes laying around, and don't eat fast food on an empty stomach.

Edward was back momentarily, sitting next to me with an almost sheepish grin on his face.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," he said innocently. "I'm just looking forward to tonight. It should be fun."

"I Frickin' hope so, after all this," I replied, smiling at our running joke. "Listen, to be Frickin' serious for a minute, I've been meaning to ask you something." He nodded, so I continued. "Mr. Cullen is going to be at this thing, and I just don't know how I'm supposed to act. I mean, technically he's my boss, but I'm not sure what to call him socially." This had been preying on my mind for days and I didn't know how to approach it, but now I was out of time.

"Well, I would suggest treating him like anyone else you meet tonight. We're not in a work situation and if anyone questions us, I'll handle it. I don't want you feeling anxious."

"If you're sure..." I said, twisting my fingers in my lap, my anxiety ratcheting up a notch just from talking about it.

"Don't worry, I'll be there with you," he said, reaching over and gently untwisting my fingers. "In fact, to help your nerves, maybe I can picture everyone in their underwear for you."

I smiled and relaxed just a little. He was right. He would be there and that would make me feel infinitely better.

Riley walked in a moment later, laden with boxes, followed by two women who were similarly burdened. As the women placed down their items and turned to leave, I realized they brought in more than just shoes. I looked over at Edward.

"What?" he asked.

"You know very well what."

"Come on now," Riley interrupted. "No lover's spats, you two. My delicate sensibilities and I don't want to be around for the making up portion of the evening." He knelt in front of me and removed my sneakers, then reached over and opened the nearest shoe box. He slipped a beautiful pair of pumps on my feet and helped me to stand so I could look in the mirror.

Wow.

Who knew a pair of shoes could make such a huge difference? They were higher than I was used to, but my legs looked long and slim and the shoes themselves were gorgeous. And probably obscenely expensive. The box they came out of said _Prada_, and even I knew what that meant.

"You are absolutely gorgeous," Riley said. "Just a few more touches." He started rifling through the other items and I looked over at Edward, who was sitting with his hand resting lightly on his chin, his index finger over his lips, watching me.

"Touches? Is there something wrong with the way I look?" I asked him, genuinely concerned that I might be embarrassing him with the way I dressed.

"No!" he said, dropping his hand to his lap. "It's just that Riley said he had the perfect accessories to go with your dress. And I always listen to him, except when he says I'm a gay man trapped in a straight guy's body. I think I would know if I were being imprisoned in such a way. I'm claustrophobic."

"You'll come around eventually. They all do," Riley told him as he walked over to me. He smiled nicely at me and fastened a bracelet to my left wrist, then handed me a pair of earrings I was sure cost more than I made in a month.

As I put the earrings on, I looked at Edward in the mirror with narrowed eyes. "Don't blame me! Blame Riley," he protested. "He told me I had to let him or he wouldn't shop for me anymore. It's department store blackmail. I should run down to Saks and seek asylum."

"Edward..."

He came to stand behind me, placing his hands gently on my shoulders, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "I realize this makes you uncomfortable, and I'm not trying to change you. You looked beautiful. I just...I've explained this before. I want you to have a few nice things. Please let me?" I hated denying him when he looked so sweet and earnest. Damn it.

Before I could answer, Edward deftly removed the pearls that I'd worn from around my neck. "What are you doing with those?" I practically shouted, panicked.

"Nothing," he replied calmly, putting them in a black velvet box Riley was holding out. "Did you think I was going to keep them?"

"No...I just...forget it," I said, looking down and feeling embarrassed that I'd made such a big deal about a string of pearls that Edward could probably pay for with his pocket change.

Edward gently swept my hair to the side and I looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I don't want to forget it. Tell me," he said.

"My parents gave me that necklace on my sixteenth birthday. It's one of the few things of them I have left."

"Do you want to put them back on?" he asked. "I didn't mean to be so presumptuous."

"No, that's okay. They just mean more to me than anything else I own. Please don't let anything happen to them." I took a deep breath and watched in the mirror as Edward took a necklace from Riley and brought it around to drape it across my neck. Along with the bracelet and earrings, it completed the ensemble perfectly.

"I promise," he assured me, smiling at me in the mirror as we both took in my new look.

"I should pay for all of this," I said weakly. I knew he wouldn't let me and more than that, I knew I would be paying this off for years, if not decades to come if he actually said yes.

"He'll put everything on my account," Edward said dismissively. "You look stunning. Now let's get the Frick out of here."

I laughed despite myself as he moved away from me, grabbing the bag that contained what I wore into the store, while Riley outfitted me with an elegant cashmere wrap and a new purse, which magically had all my belongings transferred from my old one. It was all so beautiful and I didn't know if I should be embarrassed, overwhelmed, or angry. So I decided to be the one thing that might be appropriate given the situation.

Gracious.

Besides, I could convince myself that this was all a birthday present. A secret, belated birthday present since I hadn't told Edward I turned twenty-seven a few days ago, but a present nonetheless.

I turned to Edward, who was surveying me with what I can only call appreciation, and wound my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Edward. I don't mean to be ungrateful. You just overwhelm me sometimes."

"I'm sorry," he said, hugging me back and placing a quick kiss on the side of my head. "Nah, I'm not sorry at all, actually. Ready?"

I nodded and turned around, giving Riley a hug. "Thank you."

"Oh, honey, you're beautiful. You come to me any time." He let go of me and looked at Edward. "You bring her back to me. I'm getting tired of dressing your sweet ass. I need a change."

"Change? What is this, election season?" Edward replied, shaking Riley's hand.

"Ha! With me, darling, you'll always be in season. Now off with the two of you. Go have fun and don't miss curfew, kids," Riley said, ushering us back out through the store.

Next thing I knew we were in the car, heading uptown.

* * *

**Hang onto your hats, folks. You've been with us this long...Let's just say patience will be sufficiently rewarded. _Sufficiently rewarded_. Just remember – it's all important.**

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	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks to SR, Lucette212 and arfalcon.**

**We took some liberties with the layout of the house that holds the Frick Collection. **

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Edward**_

Five minutes into cocktail hour, I realized I had a little bit of a problem.

I was having trouble concentrating.

Normally, I'd be fully focused at a time like this. Charity functions were a prime opportunity for networking and for cultivating established relationships within these social circles. The beginning of the night involved a lot of smiling and hand shaking, and if you weren't paying attention, you risked snubbing the _Vice-President of_ _Insert Company Here_, or the _Director of This Important Society_. There was a chance that these people would take offense at any failure to acknowledge them, though the likelihood of that often depended on their mood – or in other words, how many glasses of wine they'd had. Either way, the fact remained that I was a representative of Cullen, Inc. Carlisle was on the board of this particular charity and I had social mores to adhere to.

This, of course, would be a whole lot easier if I could pay proper attention to anything or anyone other than Bella.

She looked breathtakingly beautiful, the type of beautiful that made you stop and wonder how you were supposed to fully appreciate it. This was not to say that Bella didn't normally look pretty, because she did. But this kind of beauty was something else entirely. There were no words. And if someone were to claim that there _were_ words, I would challenge them to a duel. Or at least a demanding game of _Scrabble_ where I reserved the right to throw the game board when it became clear I was right.

Admittedly, when I'd arrived at her apartment earlier, the sight of Bella all dressed up didn't immediately knock me sideways. But that was purely because she fell over before I could. After establishing that the contents of her kitchen hadn't been sucked into another dimension, I asked her why she hadn't eaten. It was then that the anxious look on her face told me everything I needed to know. In fact, I felt guilty for not catching on earlier – I'd already ignored her nerves once before. So it was in that spirit that I'd decided to do more than necessary to ensure she wouldn't feel uncomfortable at this event. She was my date tonight, a fact I'd been obsessing over since she accepted my invitation. I needed to look after her, to fix her shoe debacle and make sure she ate something. So that's exactly what I did, with the help of Riley and a redhead named Wendy.

I hoped Bella felt special tonight. If there was one word I was banning altogether it would be "Peter." This was my night with Bella and I'd be damned if she didn't have a good time.

Suddenly, Bella nudged me. A server was offering me a lobster puff. Chagrined, I graciously took one before he moved on to a CFO who _was_ on this planet.

"Daydreaming already?" Bella asked, sounding a bit nervous. She was clutching onto her flute of champagne and glancing up at me with a worried expression.

I was an idiot. I was zoning out on Real-Time Bella for the Bella in my memories. Future Edward should've warned me about this.

I smiled and tried to put her at ease. "I was actually thinking about earlier tonight." I took a bite of the lobster puff and pretended to ruminate on its taste. "Hmmm, I don't think this is good enough for the menu at Wendy's. And the wine here – ugh, what does a CFO have to do to get a decent vanilla milkshake?"

She relaxed a fraction, the faintest hint of a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Yes, you heard me," I said mischievously. "I said vanilla."

"Oh, I heard you, Mr. Masen," she replied in amusement. "I'm just trying to picture you slurping through the straw of a disposable cup."

I frowned. "Don't call me Mr. Masen. We're not working. Not unless you plan to reboot the server at our table."

"I was _joking_," she assured me.

"Oh. Well, in that case, I must point out that a gentleman never slurps."

I finished the remaining bite of the lobster puff, pretending to be horrified at its taste. Bella chuckled, and it was then that an acquaintance of mine sidled up alongside me and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Masen!" Caius greeted jovially. "Who's the new lady?"

While I'd found his approach to be slightly rude, I took the question in stride. More and more guests were starting to pour in; soon we'd literally be bumping into people I knew.

"This is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Caius," I said, gesturing between the two. "He's head of Emerging Markets at JP Morgan."

He extended his hand to Bella, who smiled politely and shook with him.

"Bella, it's nice to meet you," he remarked, letting go of her hand and raising his glass. "Thank you for taking pity on Edward tonight. Poor man is...well, not poor at all...just dateless, apparently."

I cleared my throat. "Bella _is _my date."

"Oh, you know what I mean, Masen." He nudged me and winked before being distracted by something to our right. "Say, I think I just saw Aro. Talk later, okay?"

"Sure."

I gave Bella an apologetic look when Caius left as quickly as he appeared. She shrugged, but I could tell she was annoyed, presumably at how intrusive Caius had been. I was similarly irritated, but in a sudden realization, I was actually kind of thankful he'd spotted someone else to greet. While I had already acknowledged a few people tonight with a quick nod or hello, Caius was the first person who I'd properly introduced to Bella. It turned out that I hadn't thought of a few things, like how exactly to explain how we knew each other. Yes, she was a friend, but she was technically a colleague. I suppose I did have cause to be concerned about the non-fraternization issue, mainly if people were to get the wrong impression. There _were_ people from Cullen, Inc. in attendance tonight, after all. Was I to emphasize the friendship element on every introduction, like some sort of disclaimer?

Suddenly, the lobster puff wasn't sitting so well.

"So, who's sitting at our table?" Bella asked. "Anyone I know?"

"Uh..." The increasing chatter of the receiving room was now making my head spin. Bella's question was a good one: who _was_ sitting at our table? I wracked my brain for the answer. "It's not a Cullen, Inc. table or anything. Members of the board's charity usually disperse themselves among the tables, so Carlisle won't be with us. I guess we'll have to make some new friends."

"Hopefully you'll know one or two people. It'll be easier that way." She took a deep breath. "I shouldn't say that," she said a bit more brightly. "I'm fine with meeting new people."

I refrained from patting her on the arm, lest someone take the gesture the wrong way. However, it did seem wrong to have to police my behavior like this. It was my intention to have a fun night.

"You're doing great, Bella," I offered. "Now, should we try and commandeer some more hors d'oeuvres? Maybe if we side-step carefully we can intercept this lady coming around with...I don't know what that is."

Bella squinted in the server's direction. "Looks like some sort of quiche."

"Worth side-stepping for?"

"I can't tell from here, but we should try it anyway. I must warn you, though, I don't know how to waltz. Does that involve side-stepping? Or are we thinking more along the lines of a hoedown?"

I almost blanched at the reference to dancing, which was funny because I was certainly dancing around a few issues here.

"Do you need more champagne?" I suddenly asked. "Or perhaps some juice? They have beer, too, and wine. Whatever you want."

She held up her half-full glass. "No, thanks, Edward. I'm good for now."

"Oh, okay."

I told myself to stop worrying. There was no point in feeling like we were in a game of _Pac-Man_, with the ghosts of Cullen, Inc. chasing me with their warnings on company policy while I ate appetizers and made my way around the room.

It was timely that I reassured myself of this, as lo and behold, Carlisle's partner, Esme, made her way through the crowd to speak to me.

"Oh, Edward!" she exclaimed. "Fantastic! Someone I know. I mean, I do know other people here, but they probably don't want to talk to me without Carlisle around." She laughed self-consciously. "He's running a little late."

I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, very much wanting to put her at ease. She was a nice woman and I didn't like seeing her flustered. "Don't take it personally," I assured her. "I can't remember the last time he made it to a meeting on time."

"Yes," she agreed. "Always so busy." Her tone was almost dismissive, and I wondered if there was something there I wasn't catching. But before I could think too much on it, I remembered my manners. My mother would have been so proud. Or _so_ proud, as she would emphasize.

I introduced Esme and Bella, and as they shook hands, it occurred to me that this was a perfect scenario. Esme owned a restaurant and Bella was looking for work as a chef. I was like a headhunter, placing a qualified candidate with a legitimate employer. Perhaps I'd been too quick to dismiss a career in recruitment.

"Are you affiliated with the Collection?" Esme asked Bella.

"Um, no," she replied, looking at me nervously.

"She's here with me," I told Esme.

"As in your date?" she asked, a somewhat disbelieving look on her face.

"Yes, as in my date," I replied a little defensively.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I've seen you at a thousand of these events and you never...well, never mind." She waved her hand and smiled self-consciously before turning to Bella. "It's nice to meet you, Bella."

Bella smiled politely and sipped her champagne, so obviously anxious that I ran the risk of it rubbing off on me. I was nervous, there was no denying it, especially when I began to realize that I should have thought this through better. But me mirroring Bella's anxiety was the last thing we needed – one of us needed to be on our toes, and by default, that fell to me.

It was time to step up. Though that being said, it would be hard to step up while being kept on one's toes. Unless you were a Russian ballerina, of course.

I snapped out of it and told myself to focus on Esme and Bella.

"So, Bella. What do you do?" Esme asked politely.

"Oh, I work with computers," she answered vaguely. I waited for her to elaborate and express her desire for a different career, but she just sipped her champagne nervously. Surely I had told her that Esme owned a restaurant, or at least speculated about it.

I needed to do something, and as a server passed with another tray of lobster puffs, I grabbed one and popped it in my mouth. After chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, I made a "hmph" sound and took a sip of my wine.

"What is it?" Esme asked. "Don't you like it?"

"Oh, no. I like it just fine. That was actually my second...There's just this flavor I can't quite identify and I was –"

"It's smoked paprika," Bella interrupted.

"Really?" I prompted.

"Yes. It has a slightly different flavor from regular paprika, so it's not easy to identify. Especially around the tarragon and lemon." Once Bella stopped talking she noticed Esme and I looking at her and she flushed and looked down. She was embarrassed for some reason, but all I could think was, _that's my girl, _as my chest swelled with something that wasn't heartburn from the passed canapés.

"That's extraordinary," Esme said, looking at Bella with wide eyes. "I didn't even notice the paprika until you just mentioned it."

"Oh, well..." Bella said, still looking down and tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Where did you train?" Esme asked her. The look of wonder was gone, replaced by one of calculation.

Bella cleared her throat and looked up, surprised. "The French Culinary Institute."

"And why are you working with computers?"

"Um..." Bella began, looking over at me. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile and placed a reassuring hand on her back. This is what my world was all about – it wasn't always what you knew as much as _who _you knew.

"I couldn't find anything after I graduated," Bella continued, her voice just a little more confident than before. "I needed to work and I've always been good with computers...that's just how it worked out." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, her body leaning toward mine ever so slightly. "I cook for Edward instead. He provides wine and writes an extensive review afterward."

"I'm thinking of quitting the CFO business and becoming a restaurant critic full time," I joked. "Do you think _The Times_ is hiring? Or will I have to slum it for a while and work for _The Post_ first?."

Esme laughed politely and then regarded Bella for a moment before her eyes briefly met mine, then fell on Bella once again. When she spoke, she was all business. "I don't know if Edward told you, but I own a restaurant here in Manhattan. We're about to open a second location in midtown. It'll be geared toward the high-end lunch and early dinner business crowd. We're about to open and just lost a sous chef. Are you interested?"

Bella's eyes went wide but she didn't say anything, and I feared she would let her nerves get the better of her in this situation. I was about to intervene when Esme spoke again. "You'll have to come in and cook for us, of course. But I have a feeling that won't be a problem."

Bella looked at me and then back at Esme before she nodded her head slightly. "I'd appreciate the opportunity," she said, her voice steady and without a hint of anxiety.

"Good," Esme said, nodding. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back. I want to freshen my drink."

Esme walked away and once she was out of earshot, I turned to Bella. "That worked out well," I said calmly. "I'll take my finder's fee in chicken pot pie."

Bella was smiling and practically jumping up and down. I thought she was stunning before, but add to it the most genuine, happy smile I'd ever seen, and I was nearly staggered by her beauty.

Instead of answering me she threw her arms around my neck. I kissed her cheek and hugged her back, happier than I ever thought possible at being involved in helping another person reach their goals. It was all up to her now, but I'd eaten her cooking and I was confident she would be hired.

I smiled and enjoyed the feeling of her body pressed to mine, more than I probably should have, until I looked over her shoulder and saw Carlisle staring at us.

My instinct was to immediately pull away, but I reminded myself that we weren't doing anything wrong. Bella and I were friends and there was no rule against that. Besides, if I were to suddenly jump back as if her hair smelled like garlic, I'd surely offend her while making us look guilty. Which we weren't.

When I disentangled myself from Bella, Esme walked up to us, drink in hand and her back to Carlisle. She smiled at me a little smugly, which worried me in light of Carlisle's gaze. This was certainly a particularly bad time to be suggestive about me and my date.

"Edward, if you hold my drink, I'll be able to give Bella my business card," she suggested.

I dutifully took the glass from her, all the while trying to act as unruffled as possible. "Sure thing."

Esme opened her small handbag and retrieved a business card. Bella graciously accepted it, regarding it in the same way one would treat a Golden Ticket.

"Thank you so much," Bella gushed.

"Call me tomorrow and let me know when you can come in," Esme replied.

The two of them continued to talk excitedly. However, I quickly lost interest in their discussion, because at that very moment, Carlisle marched in our direction. He sidled up next to Esme in no time, surprising her and snaking an arm around her waist. Rather cowardly, I didn't dare exchange looks with Bella, who had gone deathly quiet.

"What do we have here?" he asked tightly, his words directed at Esme but his scrutiny directed at me. "Mr. Masen with _two_ beautiful ladies?"

I didn't know for sure whether Carlisle had remembered Bella and had consequently gotten the wrong idea, or whether he was merely interested in the fact I'd brought a date, period. So I played it safe by doing nothing more than smiling in return. I could only hope I was being convincing – the sudden onset of anxiety was making my head spin. This must be how Bella felt in a room full of executives.

Esme laughed, seemingly oblivious to the tension now in the air. "Oh, Carlisle. Stop being so jealous!"

"Me? Jealous?" he replied smoothly, flashing her a more natural grin.

"Yes!"

More laughter. He certainly had her charmed.

With Carlisle momentarily distracted, it was then that I glanced at Bella. She didn't look completely stricken, but she didn't look comfortable either. Then again, she was looking into her glass, so it wasn't as if I had a clear view of her expression. The uneasy feeling in my gut only worsened.

"You're being rude, Carlisle," Esme chided. "Say hello to Edward properly. And let me introduce you to Bella."

Bella had no choice but to look up from her drink. Carlisle looked at her for an extended moment, smiled briefly, and then looked pointedly at me.

"I see Edward all the time," he remarked a little too brightly. "And as for Bella, I had the pleasure of meeting her not too long ago."

He had recognized her. And he'd seen me embrace her.

This was far from good. One man's friendly was another man's inappropriate.

"Really?" Esme asked, surprised. She looked expectantly at Bella.

"Yes," Bella answered nervously, tightening her grip on her champagne flute.

"She's one of my employees," Carlisle confirmed. "Isn't she, Edward?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, Bella is a friend from work."

"Oh, right," Esme said slowly. But the situation wasn't as delicate as Esme thought it to be. In fact, she chuckled and touched her cheek in embarrassment. "I had no idea."

Though I certainly found Bella to be unforgettable, on some level I'd been banking on the fact Carlisle had so many employees that he couldn't possibly remember them all. While the friend defense was a legitimate one, I hadn't gone out of my way to seem familiar with her during the visit to IT. So the expected accusation was not likely to be _hiding an established friendship_, but rather a _breach of the non-fraternization policy_. And a flagrant one at that, as this was a public and privileged setting. He probably thought I considered myself – as CEO-in-waiting – to be above the law.

"Edward, a word?" Carlisle requested coolly.

"Yes, of course," I said evenly.

"Excuse us, ladies," he said to Bella and Esme as he led me away.

I looked over my shoulder, only to see a bemused Esme and an ashen-looking Bella. As if on cue, a server swung by and offered them another hors d'oeuvre, and with that, a new subject to discuss. It was a small saving grace – something that would not be afforded to me in this conversation with Carlisle.

I followed him as he rudely pushed through the crowd, making the apologies that he wasn't prepared to offer. When we were far away enough for his liking, he stopped, spun around and leveled a scathing look at me.

"What are you _thinking_?" he hissed.

"It's not what you think," I answered, keeping my voice lowered. "She's just a friend."

"_Just a friend?_" he repeated in disbelief. "I am not an idiot, and I certainly am not blind. You are my successor. And here you are parading a lower-level employee around as your date. Need I remind you that you are a known figure in these circles?"

"Hold on –"

"Do you think I want to answer questions about your mystery lady? _I_ know she works for the company. Am I expected to deny a breach of my own non-fraternization policy?" He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "I should've invited Marcus from Legal."

Carlisle's strong policies against fraternization were well known among his business colleagues and friends. After a high profile lawsuit a few years ago that ended in a multi-million dollar settlement, he had no qualms about making his feelings known. Forcefully and often.

"She is honestly just a friend," I reiterated, desperate for him to listen.

He quickly shushed me. "_Later._ Alec at three o'clock."

I could barely muster a greeting when Alec from Goldman Sachs approached. I felt two-feet tall, like a child being reprimanded by a principal. It wasn't just a case of being outranked by Carlisle - I was being accused of failing to act in an adult way. I was like a child, making a mistake because of my limited faculty and experience.

But this wasn't child's play. This was Carlisle's business.

* * *

_**Bella**_

I had been looking forward to this night for two weeks – longer really, considering I'd wanted a night out with Edward from almost the minute we met. And despite my nerves, I was having a wonderful time. Not only was Edward sweet and attentive, making this feel like a _real_ date, but I met someone who could potentially give me a job as a chef. Really, the night couldn't have been any better.

Until Mr. Cullen showed up.

After Edward walked away with him, Esme and I chatted about the food that was being passed around, and when I told her that I'd been to her other restaurant, she seemed really pleased. She asked me if I could possibly come in the next day to cook for her, and I answered in the affirmative as I watched Edward work his way back to me out of the corner of my eye. He was stopped quite a few times and seemed to make idle chit-chat until he was finally back by my side. Physically, anyway, since his mind seemed a million miles away.

"Everything okay?" I asked after Esme walked away to join Carlisle.

"Fine," he replied shortly.

"Edward, what –"

"Let's just go sit," he interrupted. "They're about to serve dinner."

Then he walked away from me without so much as a backward glance.

I stood there in the rapidly emptying room for a moment and tried to calm down; obviously his conversation with Carlisle hadn't gone well. But I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about it, especially if he wouldn't talk to me. Maybe giving him a moment was a wise move.

After two full minutes I followed Edward and found him seated at one of the dinner tables. There were already a few other people around the table, one of whom I recognized at Jasper Whitlock – more awkwardness to look forward to. It was a good thing I filled up on hors d'oeuvres because I was rapidly losing my appetite.

"Did you get lost?" Edward asked me as I sat down between him and Jasper. His tone wasn't particularly kind, but he seemed to have cooled off a little.

"No, actually I was checking out the collection. I'm having an _El Greco _brought out to the car. It's going to look great on my bedroom wall."

He looked at me and laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, though it felt a little forced. Maybe we could recover from whatever happened and still have a good time. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, leaning down to tell me something, but was interrupted by Jasper before he could.

"Hey, Mase!" Jasper called over me to Edward. "Have you heard? Alice is in Pakistan. She just texted me!" He held up his phone for everyone to see.

"That's great," Edward said evenly. "Do you have a map at home as well?"

"Why would I need another map? She can't be in two places at the same time," Jasper asked, looking as confused as I felt.

"Never mind." Edward ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath, making me want to comfort him somehow. But I didn't dare.

I picked up my fork and pushed my salad around my plate so I had something to do as Edward was suddenly engaged in conversation with the person next to him.

"Ah, so _that_'s how you're supposed to eat it," Jasper said from next to me.

I wasn't quite sure if he was being serious. Then I noticed the way he was trying to replicate my motions.

"Uh, yeah," I commented, not wanting to embarrass him. "It's a culinary trick. French."

"Oh, it's not French," he replied, smiling at me. "It's Jasper."

"The salad is...named after you?"

"No, I mean my name is Jasper. Not French."

I smiled tightly and nodded, thinking that was the safest thing to do. Nothing to misinterpret.

"Are you here with Mase?" he asked, gesturing toward Edward, who still had his back to me.

That was the second time he'd called Edward "Mase." Normally I would be amused, but right now I was still on edge, not knowing what exactly was going on with Edward. I thought we could salvage the evening, but he hadn't really spoken to me since we sat down even though he seemed more relaxed now.

"Yes, I am," I answered as servers came by to remove our salad plates. I didn't know if I should elaborate and make it clear we were just friends or not. So rather than say anything, I just took another sip of my champagne.

"You don't look very happy about it. Is something wrong?"

I shook my head and moved back in my chair as a server placed a plate of chicken and vegetables in front of me. "Everything is fine."

"Come on, now," he needled. "I can tell something is up. Is he not being a gentleman?"

"Uh..." Something stopped me from defending him. I bit my lip and mumbled out an answer. "I guess he's just distracted."

He frowned. "A man should always pay attention to his date. Want me to say something to him? Drop a hint?"

There was something so sincere about the offer that it made me stop and think. Here was Jasper Whitlock, a virtual stranger, picking up on my anxiety, while my _friend_ Edward was making me feel invisible. He should have known how this would make me feel. No matter what Carlisle said to him, I was still supposed to be his friend and someone he respected.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Edward suddenly asked.

His tone of voice told me that I didn't want to see his face, so I looked down, my fork running through the brown goop on my plate. "I'm not hungry."

He huffed out a breath and I cringed, worried I'd done something else wrong. He picked up his glass and took a quick drink, and then started to cough. Not thinking, I put my hand on his back, rubbing lightly up and down. "Are you okay?" I asked.

His reaction was almost immediate. He turned, shrugging my hand off his back and looking at me angrily. "We're in public and Carlisle is across the room. What are you thinking?"

I almost cowered away from his hatefulness, but as his words and his hypocrisy sank in, all I felt was intense, white hot anger. I didn't create this situation and whatever was bothering him wasn't my fault.

I lifted my head and looked him directly in the eye. "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't have the right to speak to me like that." Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my purse and walked out of the room and through the front of the museum, not even stopping to get my new wrap from the coat check.

As I sat in the back of the cab on my way home, my anger only intensified. It hadn't been my idea for us to go to the event together. _He_ had invited _me_. How dare he treat me like I was some sort of annoyance. I didn't have his money or his breeding, but I would never treat someone like that – especially someone I called a friend. I guess money couldn't buy class.

But I couldn't hold onto the anger for long after I entered my dark and empty apartment, shedding my dress along with my new shoes and jewelry. I briefly wondered if walking out in the middle of dinner would make Edward look bad in front of Mr. Cullen, and then I wanted to kick myself for caring. I was such a fool.

My eyes stung with tears as I put on my pajamas (turquoise with rainbow colored peace symbols and flowers), mourning the loss of my friendship and feeling wretched about the way I'd allowed myself to be treated. I crawled into bed and let myself cry, my mind whirling with the events of the evening that I had such high hopes for, but that had ended in absolute disaster.

As I lay there on my side, hot tears falling on my pillow, I decided I would call Peter in the morning and let him down gently – I wasn't emotionally available and I wasn't being fair to him. If I dated him I would be using him to get over Edward. Then, hopefully, the job with Esme would work out and I could leave Cullen, Inc and Edward Masen behind.

I knew it wouldn't happen overnight, but it was time for me to forget Edward and move on with my life. That was easier said than done, but I would make the effort. I didn't want to be someone's dirty little secret, or their charity case, and I didn't want to play second fiddle to a job. I was better than that and I deserved more, whether from a friend or a boyfriend.

A while later, I finally stopped crying and was about to drift off when there was a soft knock on my apartment door.

My heart jumped into my throat._ It couldn't be, could it?_

I took a deep breath and opened the door without checking the peep hole. I knew who it was.

Edward was standing in the hallway, his hair in complete disarray and a look of such keen sadness on his face that it made my heart ache and almost caused my tears to start again. But before I could react, his arms were around me and he was whispering earnestly in my ear. "I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry," he said over and over, holding me tightly and kicking the door closed behind him.

I hugged him back but stayed silent, still shocked that he was here and apologizing so fervently. I hadn't expected this at all.

He eventually pulled away from me, resting his hands on my shoulders, and looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face.

Then everything else was forgotten when he took my face in his hands and touched his soft, wet lips to mine.

* * *

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	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks to SR, Lucette212, and arfalcon**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

For as long as I'd been at Cullen, Inc., my behavior had never caused someone to storm out of a boardroom. But now I'd caused someone to flee a _ballroom_, which was infinitely worse.

Bella was right. My behavior after bumping into Carlisle had been boorish at best. Whatever I was feeling as a result of his reprimand...well, I shouldn't have taken that out on her. None of this was her fault – it was mine for being so sure Carlisle wouldn't remember her and if he did, that he would immediately accept my explanation. She deserved better and as soon as she came back to the table from wherever she'd gone, I would do whatever it took to make sure she knew that – whether Carlisle was in the same room with us or not.

Except she seemed to be taking a long time.

Various scenarios ran through my head. Perhaps she was still in line for the ladies' room – a place that often had a longer waitlist than most Ivy League colleges. Or maybe she'd talked her way into the kitchen and was checking on the quality of our meals. Or maybe Carlisle had arranged for Frick security to detain her, invoking the Patriot Act to hold her without just cause, or any cause at all.

"That's not how you treat a lady, you know," Jasper said. He was actually scowling at me. I was so used to him being blissed out or completely oblivious that this took me by surprise. "She's nice and you shouldn't have upset her."

His simple words contained the undeniable truth; she _was_ nice and I _shouldn_'t have upset her. And it wasn't the first time I'd done it. I was a bad friend; I had no idea why she kept me around. Certainly it wasn't for one of the reasons women usually wanted me around, which was one of the things I appreciated most about her. Too bad I had a horrible way of showing it. There was an argument to be made that I never learned from my mistakes – I was like a criminal who couldn't be rehabilitated. Maybe Riley was wrong: _orange_ was my color.

"You're right," I said to Jasper, running a hand through my hair and looking behind me, anxious to see Bella walking back in the room. I wasn't sure what I would say to her, but "I'm sorry" would probably be a good start. I just hoped she would accept my apology.

I turned around to the table and then back again almost immediately, but there was still no sign of her. What could she be doing? I ran my hand over my chest, hoping it would somehow dull the ache that had suddenly appeared.

"I don't think she's coming back," Jasper said.

"She's probably just in the bathroom," I replied, feeling like a bit of an idiot. "Women have rituals – things they have to check. Lipstick. Hair. Twitter."

Jasper shook his head. "I don't think she's in the bathroom. I think she's gone."

"What do – you think she left?"

"I would have," he asserted. "You're mean."

"I'm not mean," I defended weakly. I _was_ mean.

"Yes, you are. If you had Twitter, I would unfollow you."

Unfollow. That was exactly what had happened. She'd done the opposite of follow me.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

"You're like Carlisle when I forget my notes for a meeting," Jasper added.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and groaned softly. As much as I respected Carlisle, this wasn't a comparison I was comfortable with. A few months ago it would have been flattering, but now I just found it troublesome.

I looked back toward the door _again_ – this was becoming compulsive. I needed to find her.

But of course, as I tried to leave the room, Carlisle intercepted me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I'm going to find Bella," I replied, not bothering to hide my intentions.

"I don't know where your _friend_ has gotten to, but I wouldn't suggest you leave right now." He was still angry, but he wasn't my first concern at that moment.

"Your suggestion will be taken under advisement," I said shortly, turning toward the door.

Carlisle grabbed my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. "My office, tomorrow at two o'clock. Don't be late."

I nodded and walked away from him, anxious to find Bella. I would deal with him and the consequences of this evening tomorrow. At two o'clock on the dot in Carlisle's office, apparently.

I made a bee-line for the ladies' room, but stopped when I got to the door. I couldn't very well walk in, so I purposefully stood near the entrance like I was on someone's protective detail. Finally, I saw someone I knew. Unfortunately, she saw no one fitting Bella's description in the ladies' room. The stakeout had failed.

Next, I tried Bella's cell, but it went straight to voice mail. So I ran around like a crazy person, checking every other room in the museum like I was playing hide and go seek, but she was nowhere in the mansion. Jasper must have been right. She'd left. And I didn't blame her one bit; I could barely stand to be around myself after the way I'd behaved. Even my shadow was probably embarrassed to be near me.

As I sat in the back of the car on the way downtown, I couldn't seem to keep my hands out of my hair as I contemplated what I would say to her. In the twenty minutes it took for us to drive to Bella's apartment, I had my speech completely rehearsed. I would ask her for forgiveness, and then list the three reasons she should forgive me, the five reasons she should still be my friend, and the seven ways in which I was prepared to make it up to her.

Three, five, seven: all prime numbers. Because when it came to Bella, the only divisors were one and herself. My Bella was too special to be the product of anything else.

When she opened the door to her apartment in her ridiculous pajamas, her eyes red and puffy from crying, the ache in my chest got infinitely worse and I forgot everything I wanted to say. I'd done this to her. Me. I didn't want her to be sad. I wanted to see that devastatingly beautiful smile from earlier in the night.

She'd done nothing wrong and paid the price for my arrogance. And all I wanted to do was take it back. In lieu of the impossible, I did the only other thing I could. I apologized. Over and over I told her I was sorry as I held her close, hoping it would be enough. If not, I was seriously considering liquidating my assets and attempting to purchase Australia for her. Anything so she would forgive me.

And then I realized something as I was hugging her. She was warm and soft and...a woman. Not that I'd never noticed – we'd embraced before and there was no denying her beauty. But this was something entirely different and having her this close was awakening other parts of my body. Parts that were insisting I get even closer.

I moved my arms from around her, pulling away and resting my hands on her shoulders. She still looked so sad and I realized it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She deserved so much more than I'd been willing to give her. But it didn't have to be like that, did it?

I took her face in my hands and looked into her deep eyes, and every reservation I had was gone, every lie I'd told myself about wanting to be her friend and nothing more was suddenly exposed. I was no longer capable of denying the simple truth. I wanted her – more than I'd ever wanted anyone. I didn't know if she felt the same or if she would slap my face, but I didn't let myself dwell on the consequences of what I was about to do. I wanted it too much. I wanted her lips on mine, I wanted my hands on her soft skin, and I wanted her to know just how much I cared for her.

Her lips were warm and soft and much to my surprise, didn't seem the least bit resistant to my kiss. Her hands threaded through my already wild hair as she kissed me back, and I moaned quietly against her mouth, her kiss and her touch making my entire body come alive in ways I was sure it never had before.

I was kissing Bella. My Bella.

As the kiss became more intense, I pulled her body against mine – I needed to be closer to her, for our connection to be deeper. Surely she felt the same way; if this wasn't what she wanted then she would've pushed me away. Still, it was only when her hands tightened in my hair and she moaned softly against my mouth that I let myself believe the desire was mutual. It truly was the ultimate epiphany; I almost hated myself for denying my feelings for her for so long. I had denied the very concept of _us_.

It occurred to me that it wouldn't be remiss to verbally apologize once again. I didn't want her to think this kiss was a cheap distraction, the kind of manipulation employed by lesser men. Nor did I want her to think that this was the extent of my atonement. She needed to know that I would do so much better. Yes, I had let her down before, but now I had a much clearer understanding of her worth.

"Bella," I said breathlessly as I pulled back. "I'm –"

She silenced me by planting her lips back on mine. And from that moment, things began to escalate, and I had no desire to slow down. Relishing the physical proximity, I clutched her warm body with a hold that bordered on too tight. Our kissing became less chaste, both of us injecting an added degree of desperation. Bella grabbed the lapel of my tuxedo jacket and pulled me forward as she stepped backward. We stumbled through the apartment, almost tripping over each other as we headed to a destination I could only assume was her bedroom.

She wanted me in her bed.

And that's exactly what I wanted too.

My hands were all over her as she continued to guide me in the right direction; in her hair, across her back, finally coming to rest on either side of her neck, my thumbs resting on her cheeks. I wanted to strip her of these pajamas, hungry for skin-on-skin contact. As primal as it sounded, I had the strongest urge to claim her, to make it undeniably clear that she was mine and mine alone. My possessive streak kicked in when I remembered that I hadn't stopped her from corresponding with Peter. I was lucky my idiocy hadn't cost me more than it already had.

I broke the kiss when we reached her bedroom doorway, needing a moment to regain my footing. Breathless and overcome with lust, I looked at Bella searchingly. There was no sign of hesitation in her expression. She promptly grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room. This was really happening. And with the room only dimly lit by the moonlight outside and light coming from the living room, I'd be relying more than ever on touch.

Eager to get going, I fumbled with the buttons on her pajama top, only to realize it would be faster if she unfastened them herself. Bella put her hands on mine to indicate she would take care of the buttons, allowing me to toss my jacket aside. After undoing my bow tie, Bella stepped forward and kissed me again, my hands immediately reaching out to embrace her. Her bare skin was so smooth. And _her breasts_. I palmed them greedily as I groaned into her mouth. I wasn't ashamed of how aroused I was getting – it was getting _increasingly_ obvious to her. I had always prided myself on being a hard worker, and tonight was no exception.

"Your shirt," she whispered, pulling away.

Dazed and overwhelmed, I found myself reluctant to release her. But I worked off the studs on my shirt while Bella grabbed hold of my waistband and unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. Shirt and undershirt off. Trousers off. Bella, too, disrobed completely. Without pausing to think, I grabbed hold of her waist and pushed her onto the bed, leaning down to kiss her as she put her arms around my neck.

"You're so beautiful," I told her, looking into her eyes so she would see the truth of my words. It was something I'd said to her before, but this was a completely different context. She was pinned underneath me, mine for the taking. My erection was becoming painful – there was only one thought on my mind. I needed to be inside of her. Desperately.

"So are you," she answered shyly. I'd been told that before, but coming from her it felt like it meant more than the way I looked. As if she knew me,_ really_ knew me, and still found me beautiful. It made her words that much more meaningful.

A warm feeling spread throughout my chest, a different kind of ache to the one I felt earlier when I realized I'd upset her. Encouraged by her response, I lowered myself down until I was between her legs.

This was it. There was no going back.

"Are you... " I trailed off as Bella raised her hips, coaxing me to enter her. I didn't need her verbal permission. She was ready.

I groaned as my body joined hers, completely overwhelmed. She was soft and warm and wet and everything I could dream of having – and never knew I was missing until now. Bella moaned and bucked against me, sending another jolt of pleasure through my body. I began to move inside of her, the awe of what we were doing increasing with each thrust. I was having sex with Bella. And it wasn't just fucking – she meant so much to me. It may have taken me awhile to admit, but I knew it now, as surely as I knew my own name.

"Oh my God," Bella whispered.

"Is this okay?"

Her moans gave me the affirmation I needed, and she pulled me down for another passionate kiss.

Knowing I was making Bella feel good spurred me on even more. I slowed things down for a minute, taking deep, measured thrusts. I didn't want this to end too soon. I took the time to register how her body felt underneath mine, her gorgeous breasts pressing up against my chest, her legs tangled with mine. My sense of touch was heightened; the sensation of being naked with her was so amazing. Gone were the restrictions of friendship and policy. This was just me and her.

"Bella."

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her cheek, her lips. Then I quickened my pace, wanting to make her feel even better. I used her moans and whimpers as a guide to how I was doing. My strokes were shallower now, but I was hoping to hit the right spot, to build that release for her. She was taking a chance on me and I would do everything in my power to make her feel good. I closed my eyes momentarily and concentrated on the sounds of our breathing, of our enjoyment of each other's bodies. Soon, Bella's breath began to catch and her whimpers became more needy. I drove deeper into her heat again – and with more force – the satisfaction causing me to groan more loudly.

"Edward," she pleaded. If it was possible, she looked even more beautiful in this moment than she ever had before; her mouth slightly open, her cheeks flushed, and a look in her eyes that literally took my breath away.

I knew what she needed, and I would get her there. Faster and harder, I generated the friction she wanted, and soon enough, her walls began to clench around me. Every squeeze drove me insane, my balls tightening as the pressure escalated. Bella held onto me as the quivering intensified, her nails digging into my skin. Finally, she climaxed, crying out my name over and over, a blissful look on her face as the pleasure hit her. It meant so much to me that she trusted me in this way. My Bella was trembling underneath me, hopefully in as much euphoria as she appeared to be in.

I slowed my movements so as to be gentle with Bella after she came down from her high, but I was still dying for my own release. I was so close. My body tensed in anticipation as the moment neared and I was suddenly hit with the most intense surge of pleasure. It was so goddamn gratifying, one of the only situations in which I relished the loss of control. Bella held me as I came inside of her with a strangled cry, my head buried in her neck. I'd never felt such happiness. I wanted to stay with her, to be in her arms, her hands gently running through the hair at the back of my neck, and buried in her just like this.

When my breathing finally started to slow, the gravity of the situation began to hit me. Here I was, lying on top of Bella. Naked. I did more than just kiss her. I had sex with her. And not just run-of-the-mill sex. Amazing, mind-blowing sex. If I actually ran a mill, I would have to shut it down, because all I would be doing is having amazing sex all day.

Somehow, I doubted this development was normal for the _just friends _classification.

Suddenly, I was seized by a sense of panic. What was I supposed to say or do now? I didn't want to be insensitive, but I also didn't want to be overly sensitive, if that made any sense at all. This recovery silence would only last for so long – then things were bound to get more than a little awkward.

I lifted my head and attempted to break the silence. "So..." I began, still unsure of what to say.

"Yeah...um..." she said. I picked myself up on my elbows, resting my hands on either side of her pretty face. I kissed her once, briefly, before pulling back and really looking at her. Under the almost shy look on her face was this amazing, almost otherworldly glow. I wanted to pound my chest like a caveman, knowing I put it there.

Instead, I cleared my throat and brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. "Well...that was...unexpected."

"To say the least." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "If that's your preferred method of apology, you can feel free to screw up more often."

I laughed nervously. "There's screwing up and then there's just screwing." I mentally slapped myself. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate. I really am sorry for my behavior earlier. Please say you believe me."

"Oh, I believe you," she said, shivering a little under me.

"Are you cold?" I asked, getting up and looking around for our clothes. I located her pajama top and passed it to her, and my boxers, which I put on before climbing back into bed and sitting next to her.

"Thanks," she said as she sat up and put her top on.

"Your pajamas are really quite interesting," I remarked, avoiding the more pertinent topic at hand. "Very sixties, in a way. Peace signs and flowers. _Make love, not war._"

Oh God. I wasn't sure what had compelled me to say that slogan, but the words _make love _were of the very subject I was trying to skirt around. Though how I was supposed to skirt around the fact I just bedded my friend, I don't know. There was no skirting about it. There were sensible boxer shorts and playful pajamas, but no skirts.

"Yes...they're different, I guess," Bella replied unsurely. "I liked the patterns. And the colors."

I nodded. "The patterns and colors are both great."

Boy, was I awkward. Some people liked to cuddle after sex. Some liked to smoke cigarettes. Me? I wanted to be a connoisseur of whimsical sleepwear.

But in my defense, I really wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. Or rather, what I was ready to say. Sure, I now knew that I had deeper feelings for Bella, but was this the right time to discuss what had just transpired? Did I need more time to soak in these events, to extrapolate from here? Moreover, I didn't know if Bella herself wanted to immediately talk about the implications, or if she even felt the same way I did. This was delicate and complicated, not to mention completely foreign to me.

"Can I ask you something?" Bella said.

I swallowed, nervous about where her line of questioning might go, but nodded and said, "Sure."

"Why did you ask me to go with you tonight if you didn't really want me there?" she asked softly.

"Can we start with something easier, like 'What's the atomic weight of plutonium?'. Because I know the answer to that. It's two hundred and forty four."

She smiled a little but when she spoke her voice was tinged with sadness. "So you _didn_'t want me there."

I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing her once before placing it back in her lap. "Not at all. I did want you with me. Very much. I just..." I ran a frustrated hand through my hair and looked down, trying to come up with a way to explain myself. Too bad I wasn't sure I understood what the hell was motivating me these days.

"I'm sorry," I said for probably the hundredth time that night. "I'm just not good at this. And that's not a feeling I'm used to. I guess you might have to help upgrade my programming."

"It's okay," she said, smiling softly at me. She reached over and swept away a lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. "We can talk tomorrow. I'm tired anyway."

"Oh. Did you... want me to leave... so you can sleep?" What protocol did one follow when one has just had sex with one's closest friend? One thing I knew for sure, the thought of leaving wasn't appealing. At all.

"No, no. That's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I just meant...I don't..." She shook her head and looked at me, biting the corner of her lip. The lips that I'd just been kissing, and wanted to again. Right now.

"I'd like you to stay," she finally finished. "If you want to."

I took her hand, leaned over, and kissed her mouth softly. "I do."

When her eyes went wide and her face flushed, I realized what I'd said, and how I'd said it. "I mean, um. I do want to stay. Not _I do_, I do. I'm not ready for that kind of commitment. I'm married to my job. Not that I don't ever want to get married. To a woman. I'm not sure if that will count as polygamy – wife _and_ job. I've never watched _Big Love_, though I guess this might be more like _Big Corporate Love_. I mean, that probably sounds –"

"Edward."

"Sorry," I said, taking a deep breath and smiling at the mirth I saw on her face. Maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all. Despite my earlier behavior, we were still us. Still Edward and Bella, friends before anything that happened tonight. I just needed time to gather my thoughts and formulate my plan of action. Then everything would work out.

Bella got up from bed and pulled the bed covers back, so I did the same on the other side. Once I got in though, I wasn't sure what to do. Was cuddling in order? I hadn't actually slept in the same bed with a woman for quite a while, and never one I cared about this much. Holding someone "afterward" was usually a bit of a chore and something I didn't ever recall _wanting_ to do. Until this very minute.

I turned onto my side and saw Bella laying there stiffly on her back. The thought that she might be as unsure as I was made me feel less self-conscious. So I just went for it.

I pulled her to me, coaxing her onto her side, facing away from me. "Is this all right?" I asked, putting my arm around her middle and holding her close. My eyelids were heavy with fatigue and I already felt my body relaxing around hers.

She nodded her head and sighed softly.

"I hope I didn't ruin your night," I said sleepily into her sweet smelling hair. "The beginning was fun, and I know the middle was terrible, but the end was kind of amazing."

She laughed softly and squeezed my hand. "Yeah, amazing."

* * *

**Thanks for reading and for all of your kind reviews.  
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**Let's assume safe sex; they used a condom, Bella's on the Pill, whatever.  
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**See you in two weeks. Hopefully.  
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	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212 and arfalcon**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Bella **_

When Mom and Dad and I moved to Washington, I quickly made a good friend. Her name was Angela and we were inseparable from age twelve until junior year of high school. That was when Angela started dating Ben and went from a strong-willed, self-assured, intelligent young woman to a whiny, annoying doormat. She followed him around like a sick puppy, would write her first name with his last in her notebook over and over, and would sigh dreamily during classes. And I judged her for it, constantly and without mercy.

Never once, in all my years of dating had I ever mooned over a man, and I'd certainly never had sex with one in the minutes after he spoke to me like I was an idiot.

Now, lying here with Edward's arm securely around me and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind me, I felt a little like Angela. I didn't understand what drove her at the time, but now I thought I had a little insight.

Ben must have been an outstanding kisser who gave her mind-numbing orgasms on a regular basis. Because Edward-induced orgasms apparently rendered women completely stupid. That was the only explanation for my behavior tonight after Edward kissed me. He'd been downright mean to me, and yet the minute he kissed me I went from feeling absolutely wretched to almost euphoric.

Still, I didn't want to be that girl – the one who let a man treat her like crap and then accept him into her bed. I'd never let it happen before, and I didn't want to start now. Though obviously it was too late for any take backs, I needed to make clear there wasn't going to be a repeat performance of the sex if there was a repeat performance of the attitude.

I was dreading the conversation we were inevitably going to have in the morning. Mostly because I knew once we had it, there was no going back. We would be together or I would lose him completely. My mind was whirring with the possibilities, but not surprisingly, my body was completely relaxed.

I must have dozed at some point because the next thing I knew, the sun was high in the sky and Edward was stirring behind me. I was still feeling unsure about his reaction, but took a deep breath and turned to face him, propping myself up on my elbow. Never before had a "morning after" been so heavy with ramifications.

His eyes were blinking rapidly as he took in his obviously unexpected surroundings. He sat up quickly and grabbed his watch from the bedside table, looked at it for a minute, groaned, and then lay back down.

"It's late," he said. "I never sleep this late at home and this is the second time it's happened with you. Are you slipping roofies into my lobster puffs?"

"Why? Is that the only way to explain last night?" I asked, laughing nervously. He looked amazing lying there in my bed, shirtless, with his hair sticking up and his face shadowed with red scruff.

"About the only thing that can explain last night is absolute stupidity," he replied.

Well, I guess I had my answer. And without a long, drawn out conversation, so that was good. "Oh," I said. "I guess you'll want to go then." I started to get out of bed, wanting to head for the bathroom before I started to cry in front of him. "I'll just –"

"Wait," he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. He let go of me, fell back on the bed, and ran a hand over his face in what looked like frustration.

"I can run a multi-national corporation but I can't seem to say things that don't hurt you," he said softly, more to himself than to me, it seemed. "I was referring to the way I spoke to you at the benefit. Not, um... well, what we did afterward."

"Okay," I said, twisting my fingers in my lap, more unsure than ever.

He sighed and sat up, putting an arm around me. "Have I mentioned I'm not good at this?"

"I thought you were good at everything," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder and looking up at him.

He peered at me briefly and cleared his throat. "Everything? I don't know – am I?"

I took in the almost insecure look on his face before what he was really asking dawned on me. "Really?" I asked, pulling away from him so I could see him clearly. "You were here last night, right? You have eyes and ears, correct?"

"Well, yeah. But a little feedback never hurts," he all but mumbled.

"We can schedule a performance review for later in the week, Mr. Masen. Though I'm not sure I can give an accurate appraisal based on such limited interaction. I may need to increase the scope of your duties."

"Is that right?" he asked, smirking at me.

I blushed and put my head down on Edward's chest, wondering where this forward Bella was coming from. He kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair lightly, making me sigh. I really wished I knew where I stood with him and what this all meant. "Don't worry, Mr. Masen. You have very high marks so far," I finally said, picking my head up and looking at him. "For part of the night, anyway."

"Ah, right," he said sheepishly. "About that..."

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I do want to talk about this. But I have a meeting with Carlisle at two o'clock and I need a clear head for that. I'm not sure I can handle both of these conversations back to back," he said, his face taking on a serious expression. "I'm not avoiding." He leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek. "I just need to get through this afternoon. How about dinner tonight? Provided I can sit down after the ass whipping I'm sure to take today."

"Do you think it's going to be that bad?" I asked, moving away from him so I could form coherent sentences without the distraction of his hands on me.

"Definitely. I didn't technically break company policy last night, but sometimes the truth doesn't matter. It's nothing I can't handle, don't worry."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said firmly. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm to blame for everything that happened last night. I'm sorry for the way I treated you and how I spoke to you. And before you ask, I don't regret bringing you. I regret not preparing either of us better and I hate that you were hurt. But you were absolutely stunning and a perfect date."

I flushed under the weight of his words and his gaze, all of a sudden very much wanting a repeat performance of the previous evening. But I wasn't ready to put myself out there quite that freely. I still couldn't anticipate his reaction and that made me too anxious to act on my impulses. I simply wouldn't be able to handle rejection at this point.

"Okay. I'm going to see if I can meet Esme at the restaurant today. She mentioned something about it when you were talking with Carlisle."

"Good," he said. "I'll call you later and we can firm up our plans."

We sat there looking at each other awkwardly until I couldn't take it anymore. "I'll make breakfast," I announced, getting out of bed and stretching. "Do you like french toast?"

I looked over at Edward, who was staring at me with an odd look on his face. "Unless you have to run," I said, suddenly uncertain. "I have an extra toothbrush if you want to clean up..."

"Huh?" he replied, finally looking at me and shaking his head as if to clear it. "Oh, yeah, that would be great, thanks. I love french toast."

I found my pajama bottoms, put them on, and went to the bathroom, hunting around for my extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I stared at it for a moment after I found it – it was pink and generic and I wondered what Edward would think. People with his kind of money probably paid their maids to operate their Sonicare for them. For all I knew, I was about to hand him the equivalent of a twig and a mint leaf. I'd be lucky if he managed to clean the Upper East Side of his mouth.

I told myself to stop being ridiculous. Edward didn't even have a maid. I would just have to remind him that the bristles didn't move on their own.

After I freshened up, I found Edward sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers, typing on his BlackBerry. I rolled my eyes and handed him the toothbrush.

"Thanks," he said, looking up quickly and taking the toothbrush before putting his phone down. "I'm just gonna..." He gestured awkwardly toward the bathroom, and I nodded my head and began picking clothes up off the floor. We certainly made a mess.

As I was folding Edward's jacket, something occurred to me and I went tearing through my apartment, looking to see if he had brought anything with him when he came back last night. There was nothing. I wound up back in my room, irrationally looking through my jewelry box before giving up in frustration.

"Edward!"

He was in my room almost immediately, toothbrush still in his hand, a little fleck of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. "What happened?"

"Where are my pearls?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He blinked a few times before answering me, his voice clear and calm. "I left them in the car last night. I'm sure my driver has them. I don't want you to worry, okay?"

I let out a long breath and closed my watery eyes briefly. "If you're sure..."

"I use him all the time. I guarantee he has them." Edward put his arms around me gently and rubbed my back. My trembling eased as I let him comfort me, which eventually just made me feel silly.

"I realize you can probably buy a thousand strings of pearls without making a dent in your checking account, but –"

"No. None of that," he said, easing away from me and running his thumb along my cheekbone. "I could buy you a diamond as big as your fist and it wouldn't compare in value to a gift from your parents. You never have to explain that to me."

He kissed me softly and quickly on the mouth before pulling away completely. He tasted nice and minty fresh. "I'll bring them tonight. That way I can guarantee you'll be there," he said, walking back to the bathroom.

"Afraid I'll stand you up?" I called.

"I don't have a great track record. Can't say I would blame you," he said walking back into my bedroom, picking up his undershirt and pulling it over his head.

"I'll be there. What do I have to do to ensure _you_ show up?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away. Unless there was some sort of trampling incident, in which case I'd ask you to meet me at the hospital. We could have green Jell-O for dinner. Pudding, too, if you feel like it. I'm all for equal opportunity when it comes to dessert in a cup."

I laughed, liking this "morning after" version of Edward more and more as the morning wore on. "Would you like the sweatpants back?" I asked as he stood there frowning at his tuxedo pants.

"Do you think the hospital would let me wear them? I thought they had a policy with hospital gowns – a minimum amount of backside must be shown."

"Edward. I mean for now. They'll definitely be more comfortable."

"That would be great, thanks."

I handed him the sweatpants and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Cooking was one of the few things that tended to keep me from saying ridiculous things, so that's what I did.

Edward joined me a few minutes later and started making coffee as I was whipping up the batter for the french toast. I smiled as he moved effortlessly around my small kitchen. I really liked him here.

"Can I help with...this?" he asked, waving his hand in the general direction of the breakfast I was preparing.

I laughed and shook my head. "Leave this to me. Why don't you set the table? Just put any junk you find there on the coffee table."

"Will my table setting duties be included in my review?" he asked, picking up a pile of junk mail and moving it to the living room.

"Absolutely. Morning after behavior counts toward at least twenty-five percent of your total." I put four slices of French toast into a hot pan, enjoying the satisfying sizzling sound they made.

"Good to know. Next time we'll stay at my place and I'll have..."

"Have what?" I asked, turning around. Edward was standing in the middle of my living room, staring at my cell phone.

"Edward?" I asked timidly.

He looked up at me, something in his eyes that I'd never seen before. He was hurt. "I was moving your phone. It fell and popped open," he said softly. "You have a text message."

My stomach clenched as I realized who the text must have been from.

"It's not what you th–" I didn't have time to finish my thought because the next thing I knew I was pinned against my refrigerator with Edward's mouth, hot and demanding, covering mine. I whimpered, weaving my hands through his soft hair and returning his kiss with equal fervor.

He pulled away from me, his hands gripping my waist tightly. "You're not going to see him," he practically growled.

"No, I'm not," I whispered, my breath catching as he looked at me, his eyes a blazing green. He leaned down and kissed me again, this time slowly and softly. My body felt like liquid against his, and he moaned when my hands tightened in his hair. One of his hands wound its way into my hair as his tongue moved languidly but with purpose against mine. As thoughts of morning after sex flitted through my mind, the most awful smell assaulted my nose.

Edward pulled back from me and looked around as I ran for the stove. I pulled the frying pan off the burner and threw it into the sink, turning on the water to cool it off.

Unfortunately, almost burning down my apartment cooled my libido as well. That and the acrid smoke that was making both of us cough.

Edward went to open my windows as I threw the burned, wet toast into the garbage. I took a mental inventory of my kitchen, realizing I had nothing else for breakfast except two lousy eggs and a box of Multi-Grain Cheerios. And very little milk. But I could probably whip up some scones or a quick batch of muffins if he had the time.

"So..." Edward said as he walked back into the kitchen, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. "Are you sure you _graduated_ from culinary school?"

"You distracted me," I whined. "All lips and hair and..." I waved my hand up and down his body, "...Edward."

He smiled and walked slowly over to me. "Will that count for or against me in my review?"

"For. Definitely for," I said, looking up at him as he reached me and put his hands on my shoulders. I really wanted him to kiss me again and then take me back to bed. But instead he sighed and dropped his hands.

"I should go anyway. I have that meeting and I need to get home and clean up first."

"Okay," I said brightly, trying to hide my disappointment. I guess the scones were out. Work came first, after all, right? "Go get dressed and I'll get you a cup of coffee."

He nodded and disappeared into my bedroom while I made him up a cup of coffee just the way he liked.

More quickly than I would have imagined, Edward came striding out of the bedroom with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his tie loose around his neck. It wasn't fair that anyone should look so good in a mess of clothes that spent the night in a pile on my bedroom floor.

He took his coffee with a _thank you_ and started drinking it quickly.

"I'll call you later," he said, taking one last sip from his cup before putting it in my sink. I wanted to kiss him goodbye, but didn't know if I should, so I settled for a quick peck on the cheek. He smiled and turned to leave.

"Hey, Edward?" I called after he had the front door open.

"Yeah?" He turned to me, his hand on the doorknob.

"Don't get trampled, okay?"

"Not even that would keep me away. Just don't laugh if the hospital confiscates my pants." He winked at me and closed the door behind him.

* * *

_**Edward**_

Before last night, my relationship with Bella was entirely explainable. We were simply friends, and nothing more. It was so explainable that it was succinct enough to be a tweet. It could even be cross-stitched onto a cushion, printed on a name tag, or written in the sky. Simple.

Last night changed everything. It blew this 'simple' business right out of the water, to the point where I found myself a thousand miles away, with a life buoy for support and no real idea where 'simple' was in relation to my current location. The startling thing was, perhaps I had never truly been at 'simple' with Bella. It was possible that we'd been drifting in the same direction for some time now - I'd just never bothered to look around and adjust my bearings. Some navigator I was. My stomach was now tied up in knots – complicated, nautical knots – just thinking about how last night was everything that I never cared to admit I wanted.

So even though we had yet to discuss what last night actually meant, to say we were "just friends" would most certainly be a lie. Whether it was said to myself, or to someone like Carlisle, it would not be true. And that made me decidedly uncomfortable. For one, I wasn't one for being dishonest, especially to one I regarded as highly as I did Carlisle, and two, it was disrespectful to Bella to deny her role in my life.

Which was... I had no idea. Through the rest of my day, as I went home, ate, showered, and prepared for my meeting, I struggled with what to tell Carlisle. "Hey, Big C. Relax. Bella and I were friends, but then I acted like an ass, and somehow we wound up in bed together. Crazy, huh?" Clearly, I was having trouble focusing. Every time I'd try to come up with something to say or a course of action, my mind wandered to Bella, and as a result, all my thought processes became overwhelmed. Yes, I thought about the amazing sex, but also wondered about what it would feel like to wake up with her in the morning and come home to her at night, what her hand would feel like in mine, and how gorgeous she would look naked and wet in my shower. Among other–very distracting–things...

Not only that, but I was having dinner with Bella tonight where we would inevitably talk about our relationship, such as it was. I literally had no experience with this. These conversations usually revolved around me explaining to a woman how important my work was and how I couldn't make time for a serious relationship. Now I found myself in the unique position of wanting to give a serious relationship a try. But I had no idea how to approach it. This was a serious matter, and not something I could literally poke a stick at in order to get an idea of how to wrangle with it.

Admittedly, poking a stick at something was a rather childish approach, and in light of such juvenile thoughts, I distinctly recalled the first time I tried to maneuver myself into a relationship situation. I was twelve, and I was in pre-teen love with a girl named Catherine Hanover. I escorted her to her classes at the Dalton School, we ate lunch at the same table every day, and I walked her to the car that picked her up outside. It all seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, and I considered myself to be just that. A young gentleman.

After about a month of this, I went to meet her at her locker one morning, as was my habit, but she was standing there with Eric What'sHisFace. He was holding her books. Not only was that my job, but he was doing it completely wrong. Books were like girls, after all – if you didn't treat them properly, they'd suddenly become more difficult to read.

Turns out Catherine Hanover wasn't taking me seriously because I hadn't specifically _asked _her to be my girlfriend. I had no idea this was protocol, but apparently I'd missed an important step. By the time I realized my error, it was too late, and all I was left with was a lesson that I'd learned the hard way.

That was the first and only time I'd ever wanted someone to be my girlfriend. I wondered if the rules had changed since then. If such a protocol was still in place, how exactly did I go about updating myself? Perhaps I hadn't signed up properly to begin with, and as a result was missing each and every update. With the mistakes being made by men all over the world, it wasn't as if all men were taking notice of such updates – I assumed it was akin to iTunes inconveniently telling you to read a new set of terms and conditions when all you want to do is download the new Yo-Yo Ma. But still, while these men get prompted with new information, here I happened to be, twiddling my thumbs and wondering what to do next.

I had _no idea_ what to do or what was expected, and I really had no one to ask. I was thirty-five years old and in need of dating advice. Unfortunately, I was too old to be writing in to _Seventeen_ magazine–twice too old, as a matter of fact–and not game enough to call in to those "relationship advice" radio shows. How embarrassing.

To add to my feeling of being in over my head, work and Carlisle were still a problem, and then there was the small issue of not knowing what Bella wanted. Perhaps I had miscalculated by putting off my discussion with her until later. I wished I could fast forward a few months to a time when Bella was firmly in the role of girlfriend. She'd be working for Esme, and I'd be getting ready to take over Cullen Inc. No uncomfortable conversations with either Carlisle or Bella. I'd simply get to go home to Bella after a long day at the office – we'd have a relaxed dinner, talk about our days, and then spend the night in each other's arms. Awkwardness would just be a thing of the past – a youthful habit thankfully outgrown and forgotten.

Building a time machine would, incidentally, take a lot of time. I'd have to acquire a flux capacitor and all that jazz, just to return to_ this_ moment. It would all be lot simpler if Future Edward simply paid me a visit and lent me his already built time machine, but really, he'd have no incentive to do that, as he'd be the one in bed, snuggling up to Future Bella. Damn him. Damn _me_.

The first step to getting to where I wanted to be? That would be manning up and talking to Carlisle. Cullen, Inc. was in many ways my past, present and future, but being the next CEO wasn't supposed to render me alone and miserable for Christmas. Christmas was reserved for Ireland and lucky times with Bella, who hopefully wanted to be my girlfriend.

I stopped by my office first and dropped the velvet box with Bella's pearls in it on my desk. I didn't want to forget to bring them to dinner and didn't know how long I'd be here. Then before I could psych myself out, I got in the elevator and was soon on my way up to see Carlisle.

I greeted Heidi politely, not stopping to survey her expression or demeanor, and then walked straight into Carlisle's office, closing the door behind me.

* * *

**A quick note: We didn't intend to end the chapter here, but there was no good place to cut the action that follows. **

**Thank you for reading and for your kind reviews.**

**Teasers will occasionally appear on the blog: http: / dearmrmasen . blogspot . com**

**Updates on updates on twitter: jenndema and belladonna1472**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212 and arfalcon.**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Edward**_

"Carlisle," I greeted, sitting in front of his desk and resting my ankle on the opposite knee. Yes, I was purposely going for a relaxed pose. It was also why I chose to wear chinos and a shirt with no tie. I rarely wore a suit on Sunday and I wasn't about to start now. I'd done nothing wrong, after all.

This would soon be my office. But it was not that day yet, and Carlisle was unlikely to step aside without imparting his two cents – or should I say, multi-millions – on this matter.

"Edward, thank you for coming," he said, turning away from his computer. He regarded me silently, his hands laced together across his desk. I knew this move; I'd used it myself. But I'd be damned if I was going to be intimidated.

I sat there and stared right back at him, never flinching. After a few moments he nodded his head almost imperceptibly and shuffled a stack of papers on his desk.

"I know you didn't want to come to work for me," he finally began, relaxing into his chair. "But when you left Price Waterhouse I was determined that you come here. I needed a successor and I trusted you. I was sure you'd picked up something during all the times you sat in the corner playing while your father and I discussed business."

I nodded and gave him a small smile. I loved it when Carlisle would come over to talk business with my father. They seemed other-worldly to me; strong, sure captains of industry that I looked up to and wanted to emulate. _Every_ boy needs _strong_ role models, my mother always emphasized.

"You've always exercised sound judgment," he continued, "and like I've said before, I believe you're a natural business man."

I nodded again but remained silent, knowing he needed to say whatever was on his mind.

"Bringing an employee with you last night, and not advising me beforehand, did not show good judgment, Edward."

"Look, I can't argue with that," I replied truthfully. "But if I had anything to hide, do you honestly think I would have brought her with me?"

He paused and looked at me for a long moment.

"Esme tells me your friend is interested in restaurant work," he continued evenly.

I was momentarily confused by the switch in topic until his reasoning dawned on me.

"Hang on," I said, sitting straighter in my chair. "You can't honestly believe I would use you or Esme in that way."

"I didn't say _you_ would," he replied pointedly. "Perhaps Ms. Swan knows how to make the right friends."

If I hadn't been so offended on Bella's behalf, I might have laughed at his baseless accusation. As it was, he'd formed his opinion on very limited interaction, and it was pissing me off. Royally. To the point where I wanted to hold a coronation for the allegation: Baseless Accusation the First.

Networking was one thing, but to insinuate that Bella was only out to exploit my personal connections was another.

"Absolutely not," I said, trying unsuccessfully to rein in my temper. "You don't know her at all and I resent your allegation."

Carlisle nodded his head and picked up a file from his desk, opening it and gazing down at it before he looked back at me. "Fair point. I wanted to know a little more about your Ms. Swan, so I had a look at her personnel file. Everything seemed pretty straightforward until I came across a notation made by Shelley Cope. It seems that a few months ago Ms. Swan was paid for unaccrued sick days. This deviation from policy was approved by you. Is that correct?"

I blanched but didn't break eye contact. To a man like Carlisle that would be as good as admitting guilt. "That's correct," I said. "But just so we're clear, Bella didn't ask me to do that for her. That was all me and I take full responsibility."

He nodded and continued. "I remembered something Mr. Black said during our IT visit and I put a call in to Mr. Crowley this morning. Apparently, you moved up an audit of the IT department, and had him do it as opposed to one of the accountants, though you gave Mr. Crowley no reason as to why. This is also correct?"

"It is," I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

While this line of questioning didn't have the confrontational nature of a full on interrogation, it was a line of questioning nonetheless. And Carlisle, as measured as he was being, was asking questions he already knew the answers to.

He nodded once more as he took a small sheaf of papers from the file on his lap. "After this information came to my attention this morning, I had Heidi call Mr. Black and have him join me here at the office. I asked him to print a log of Ms. Swan's emails, dating back to right before the audit, including any that may have been erased." He paused as I tried to catch my breath. This was not good. Individually, none of these things was terribly incriminating. Together, they demonstrated a pattern of favoritism – the exact thing Carlisle's non-fraternization policy was designed to prevent.

Carlisle again paused briefly before he continued, his eyes like lasers on mine. "He didn't find much outside of work related emails, but what he did find was fairly innocuous. Just a few emails between you and her that were frankly rather funny."

I had assumed Bella erased all of our emails, but now I wondered. Still, the stack of paper he had was small and definitely didn't account for every email we'd ever exchanged. This would require further investigation.

"You must be careful in these situations, Edward. The non-fraternization policy of this company is in place for many reasons. I realize you probably think I'm just trying to protect my company, and hence my own ass. But I need to protect you as well."

"I don't need protecting from Bella, or anyone else. I'm actually a grown man and a rather good judge of character." I didn't bother to try to hide the edge of anger in my voice. "Bella's my friend, and when I tell you that, I expect you to believe me. I realize I've had some lapses in judgment where she's concerned, but that doesn't define her, nor does it define my time here or my career."

He looked at me for a long minute before he responded. "Look, Edward. I care for you like a son. I didn't call you here to reprimand or berate you. If you tell me she's a friend and trustworthy, I believe you. But you showed poor judgment and I need to make sure your commitment to this company, and its policy, is solid."

"It is," I assured him, my temper cooling.

"Good," he replied, reaching into his drawer and pulling out a two inch thick file. "As you know, we're acquiring Smith & Sons. I want you in the lead on this. Our first meeting is tomorrow at nine o'clock." He leaned across his desk and handed me the file. "Get up to speed and I'll see you at the meeting." His tone left no room for discussion, and certainly none for refusal. He was testing me; testing my resolve and dedication to make sure I was ready to take the reins of his company.

I rose from my chair, file in hand. Carlisle remained seated.

"I'll see you in the morning," I said, holding up the file. He nodded and smiled, his hands steepled under his chin.

As I waited for the elevator that would take me down to my office, I took out my phone and brought Bella's name up under my contact list. My finger hesitated over the send button. I told her nothing would keep me away from her tonight, but there was no way I could absorb the contents of this folder and have dinner with her, especially considering the discussion we were planning on having. It would simply have to wait. She would understand. I'd told her many times that work was my priority and she would know only an emergency would make me cancel on her after what we shared last night.

Her phone rang three times before it went to voice mail.

"Hey, Bella. Listen, I'm really sorry but I can't make it tonight. Something came up during my meeting with Carlisle that I need to take care of immediately. I'll call you later to reschedule." I paused for a moment, searching for the words that would make her believe I was sincere. "I hope you're free tomorrow because I swear on my grandma's chicken pot pie, I will make time for you...for us. I promise."

I disconnected the call and got in the elevator.

_**Bella**_

"Your food is delicious, Bella," Esme said. "And the dish you made from our menu is perfect. I can't believe you've had any trouble finding a job before now."

"Well," I said, smiling and looking down briefly before raising my eyes, "maybe I was just waiting for the right situation."

"I hope you've found it," she said before gesturing to her Executive Chef. "Sam will give you the details, but our salary and benefits are very competitive, so I hope you'll take the job."

I stood there silently for a moment, letting her words sink in. Because_ holy shit_, I was pretty sure she'd just offered me my dream job. I gathered my wits and cleared my throat. "I'm sure your offer will be more than acceptable."

"Good," she said, nodding her head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some calls to return." She turned to Sam. "Take care of her, will you?"

Sam nodded and stood, gesturing for me to follow him. After accepting the very generous package that was offered to me, he asked me if I could start the very next day. I explained that I needed to give CI at least two weeks notice, and we agreed that I would come in during the evenings for the next two weeks to train, though I would be working the lunch shift when I started.

As we were discussing my health benefit options, my phone rang with Edward's ringtone. I didn't pick it up, though. For once, _my_ job was taking precedence over _him_. Besides, I was sure he was calling to firm up our plan for later and I could call him back when I was finished.

I practically skipped all the way to the subway. I had what amounted to the perfect job, and once I called him back, a dinner date planned with Edward. I wasn't sure what I did to deserve it, but it seemed like everything in my life was falling into place.

At least I thought so until I picked up Edward's voice mail.

I was disappointed, but I consoled myself with the fact that he'd called and was thinking about me. I resisted the urge to call him back and share my good news – I wanted to tell him in person tomorrow and be able to thank him properly.

I didn't like losing out to his job once again, but he'd promised to make time for me the next day, and one doesn't swear on Grandma's chicken pot pie lightly. Besides, I thought his behavior during our morning together clearly indicated he didn't want just a one night thing.

And if I had to wait one more day to make it official, so be it.

I walked into work the next day with a bounce in my step, only to be greeted by Jake, who insisted I go to the server room with him before I had a chance to even sit down.

I stood there among the whirr of the machines as Jake looked at me nervously; I couldn't imagine what he had to tell me.

"When you erase emails, they don't really erase," he blurted out. "I exchange emails with the guys in my Dungeons and Dragons forum, but I make sure to delete what I deleted."

My brow knit in confusion before my eyes went wide. This was not a good start to the conversation. Dungeons, dragons, and unsuccessful deletion – enough screw-ups to make the average person/medieval knight shudder.

"Mr. Cullen called me in yesterday and asked me to print copies of all your emails," he continued, speaking quickly and not looking me in the eye. "I found a lot, but I only gave him the work related emails and a few personal. If there were none he would have been suspicious. But they weren't the incriminating ones."

I stood there, my heart pounding, wondering what the hell was going on. "Mr. Cullen was checking up on me?"

He nodded and bit his nails nervously. "Uh...yeah."

This was far from good. If "good" were plotted on a map, "this situation" wouldn't even be on the same page. It wouldn't even be in the same hemisphere.

"Look, I know we haven't always gotten along," Jake continued, "but you could have gotten in a lot of trouble for some of those emails. You shouldn't be carrying on with the CFO like that. You could get fired."

The penny began to drop. Slowly, as if gravity had lessened its pull. Mr. Cullen was checking up on me, presumably because he'd seen me with Edward on Saturday. And Jake was protecting me. _Protecting_ me. I was hardly a damsel in distress – and he certainly wasn't my nerd in virtual armor – but he had gone out of his way to help me out.

"Oh," I said, still dumbstruck. "I'm...I'm not carrying on with anyone."

He tilted his head. "It's okay. I'm just saying..."

"Besides, I quit!" I blurted out. My brain had finally caught up with my mouth. It was now sitting on the sidewalk, nursing a stitch and wondering if only nutjobs believed running was good for the soul.

"Quit? It's not that big a deal, Bella. I permanently erased them. You and the CFO might want to cool it, though."

"No cooling necessary!" Boy, was I jumpy. "Not everything needs to be refrigerated, you know."

Now Jake was looking at me with genuine confusion. "Sure."

I shook my head quickly. "Sorry. I'm all frazzled. What I meant to say is I'm actually quitting. I got another job. As a chef!"

He looked even more perplexed. I suddenly realized that I'd never explained to him that my work at Cullen, Inc. was merely a way for me to bide my time. So I explained it to him, there in the heat of the server room, which was not as comfortable as the heat in a kitchen, but would have to do for now.

"So you got a job as a chef?" Jake said, smiling and looking genuinely pleased for me.

I smiled back, surprised at his good will. I really was excited about this new opportunity, and it helped that someone else was happy for me. "Yeah, I start training tonight."

He looked at me closely for a minute, making me really uncomfortable. Plus, it was getting hotter in here. Not that kind of hot – more like someone messed with the thermostat kind of hot. Perhaps Mr. Cullen was literally trying to make me sweat.

"You have vacation time," Jake finally said.

"I'm starting a new job. I don't have time for vacation," I said rather incredulously. And dumbly, as it turned out.

"I mean you can use that for your two weeks notice," he said, still grinning and rolling his eyes. "We're short staffed, but we can handle it."

"Really?" I asked. "I can do that?"

"Sure. Vacation usually requires some notice, but I'll cover for you."

I eyed him suspiciously, wondering whether there was a secret plan behind all of this kindness. I wasn't sure if I could trust him. After all, what kind of emails had _he_deleted during his time here? Sure, he'd mentioned Dungeons & Dragons, but maybe he played the game in a shady way. They say "don't hate the player, hate the game", but it wouldn't be the game's fault if he were untrustworthy.

I was being ridiculous. I returned Jake's warm smile and told myself to stop thinking his forum buddies were members of a gaming conspiracy.

"I realize – partly from your emails – that I haven't always treated you right," he conceded.

"Well..." I began, not entirely sure what to say. It wasn't really the time to gripe about our differences, what with his change in tune.

"Reading what you wrote made me angry at first, but then I thought about it and you were absolutely right. I just... I don't want to be that guy. My mother raised me better than that and she would be disappointed in me if she knew."

"I doubt she reads our emails," I joked lightly. "I think you're safe."

He paused. "I have a sneaking suspicion she knows how to use a computer."

"Everyone thinks they know how to use a computer. Until they encounter enough blue screens to make a Star Wars film, that is."

He laughed heartily. "Oh, that's a good one. Making fun of PCs _and _the new _Star Wars_. I think you're one of us – it's a shame you're leaving. And by that I mean leaving as soon as you can. Just go. I'll cover for you. I owe you that much."

On impulse, I threw my arms around him and gave him a hug in thanks for his help. And surprisingly, he didn't smell bad at all. Maybe he really did take what I said in my emails to heart. Or mouth, rather.

"Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it."

"No problem."

I collected my things from my desk, said goodbye to a few people, and left Cullen, Inc. behind, ready to start my new life. I called the restaurant and told them I could start immediately, went shopping for some new kitchen clogs, and even splurged on a new dress for my date with Edward.

Except as the day wore on, I began to wonder if I shouldn't have bothered. Edward hadn't contacted me all day; no phone call, text, email, telegram, or carrier pigeon. I was losing hope; he'd promised me – promised he would make time for me today. But by nine o'clock that night, with no word, I was not only depressed, I was angry. I'd given him so much more than my body the other night, but nothing had changed.

I didn't know I had a breaking point with Edward, but when I heard his ringtone from my cell phone at almost eleven o'clock that night, I realized I did.

And I'd just reached it.

"Yes?" I said through clenched teeth.

"Bella," he said. "I'm so sorry. I've been –"

"You know what, Edward? I don't want to hear it."

He seemed taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm tired of your excuses and I'm tired of being ignored. After what happened on Saturday, I expected better."

"I –"

"No. I should have expected better long before Saturday night. But I didn't. And maybe that's my fault. But I can't listen to how your job is more important than I am anymore."

"Please listen for just a second," he pleaded.

I paused and took a deep breath. "Go ahead."

"It _was _really important. My meeting with Carlisle went well but then he saddled me with this takeover in addition to everything else I do on a daily basis and it was just... overwhelming."

"So overwhelming that you broke your promise to me not once, but twice?"

I heard him inhale sharply but he didn't say anything for a long minute. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I closed my eyes as tears slid from beneath my lids. As heartbroken as I was, and as much as I didn't want to face the truth, I had no choice. If we continued down this path it would be broken promise after broken promise, missed date after missed date. I couldn't do that to myself. Not for him or anyone. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that your apology isn't enough anymore." I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I had to say. "I want better. I want more – I deserve it."

"You do," he said softly. "You deserve the world at your feet."

"Why were you calling?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but no matter the outcome we needed to get everything out in the open. "I thought we had plans for tonight since you promised to make time for us. Don't you think calling earlier than eleven o'clock would have been considerate?"

He was silent for so long that if I wasn't able to hear his breathing, I would have assumed he hung up. "Edward?"

"I was so busy. This really is the first opportunity I've had to call," he finally said. He paused a beat before speaking again. "I have an incredibly busy week ahead of me. I'm going to be working late every night."

Of course. Why I ever got my hopes up, I'll never know. I should have expected this. "So this is the way you blow me off? 'I'm busy with work'? Is this a standard line or did you come up with it especially for me?" I wiped tears from my cheeks quickly, but my voice was firm. My heart wasn't a negotiable commodity. I wanted so badly for him to tell me I was wrong, that he loved me and that he would never choose anyone or anything before me again. That there was going to be an _us_.

"That's _not_what this is. I don't have a choice," he defended.

"There's always a choice, Edward. You just need to make the one that's right for you."

"I want... I'm sorry. I don't know what to do." The tortured tone in his voice gave me pause, but the fact that he didn't know what to do just reinforced what I knew I _had_to do.

"You've already made your decision. Goodbye, Edward."

I disconnected the call, dropped my phone, and slid to the floor. Then I buried my head in my arms and cried.

Even though I knew what I'd done was the right thing, I had to stop myself from picking up the phone more than once that night, wanting so badly to call him back and tell him I would wait as long as it took. That I loved him and I'd take whatever scraps of his time he would give me. I knew that ultimately I'd done the healthy, smart thing; this man I cared for so deeply simply didn't feel the same way about me and giving any more than I already had would lead to much worse heartbreak down the road.

I called Rose instead, who sat on the phone with me for hours while I vacillated between anger and hurt, yelling and crying. She assured me that I'd done the right thing and that I did, indeed, deserve more than I was getting. When I finally hung up with her it was past two o'clock in the morning.

I barely slept and left the house the next morning feeling absolutely wretched. My head was pounding, my heart was heavy, and my limbs felt like lead. But once I walked into the kitchen at Esme's restaurant, it was as if I was reborn. It was only my first day, and I was in the training phase of my employment, but my personal heartbreak was left at the door. This was where I belonged and the place that made me happiest: the kitchen.

I went about my day, prepping for lunch service and learning the routine of the restaurant. I thought of Edward, of course, but the pain was dulled by my happiness at simply being in a kitchen again.

But his absence from my life came back to slap me in the face when I found a man, holding a black velvet box, standing outside my apartment door when I got home that night.

"Isabella Swan?"

"Yes," I said, my heart hammering in my chest.

"This is for you." He handed me the box, smiled, and walked away.

When I got into my apartment, I opened the box with a shaking hand. I'd hoped against hope that Edward would come after me or make some grand gesture to prove he cared for me. But when I saw my string of pearls nestled inside, I realized that whatever relationship I had with Edward was really and truly over. This was the final brush-off – he was sending me back the last connection we had. Through a courier. That he couldn't even be bothered giving them to me himself, that he hadn't tried to come after me or even picked up the phone, spoke volumes.

I crawled into bed that night and shed what I was determined would be my final tears over Edward Masen.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212 and arfalcon.**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Edward**_

There was no way to quantify the anguish that had overcome me. It was immeasurable.

_Surely_ my conversation with Bella had not actually turned out like that.

It was unfathomable.

And that was where the problem lay. The fact that I couldn't understand how this had all transpired was surely a sign that I had caused this breakdown in some way. I was a man who prided himself on learning – someone who was unfamiliar with the concept of failure or frequent mistakes. In my head, I had rationalized the phone call as a positive move._ Finally,_ I was learning to communicate, to tell the woman who meant so much to me what needed to be rearranged so I could meet with her. I didn't think checking in with her would mean she would_ check out_, as such.

Yes, I had promised to make time for the all-important conversation we had to have about _us_, but the development with Carlisle wasn't something to be taken lightly. I _wasn't _backing away from her. I thought she would understand and give me a few days to sort out work-related matters so I could pay due attention to our personal situation. Surely it would've been worse to have tried to rush through a conversation tonight? I hadn't thought to call earlier because I'd honestly thought I'd be out of the office sooner rather than later. Now that mistake was just one part of a larger miscalculation – one wrong sum in a theorem now proven to be false.

I was utterly clueless, yet again. I did not know this language between women and men. Oh how I wished I knew it. Here I was in the back of the car, slouched over to the point that my cheek was pressed up against the window. If these windows weren't tinted, I was sure people would think I was drunk or incapacitated. Well, they'd be half right. I did not possess the capacity to hold onto someone I cared for so deeply.

The truth was I had no right to blame Bella for being upset over my broken promises. After all, I had sworn on my grandma's chicken pot pie. A man's word was a man's word. I, on the other hand, had as much credibility as the _National Enquirer_. But despite the suffocating feeling of shame, I also felt a keen sadness. Initially, I had been shocked at her quick reaction – had I made it impossible for her to give me the benefit of the doubt? She'd sounded so sure that I was severing our connection, cutting the very ties that we'd attached to the other. It was that certainty that prompted me to consider what she deserved in life. I'd meant it when I told her she deserved the world at her feet. She deserved the whole frickin' universe at her feet. I was apparently incapable of giving her what she needed, and I was not being given yet another chance to prove myself. I was apparently as dense as black matter when it came to questions of the heart.

I laughed bitterly, most likely sounding like a mad man. To think that just this morning I'd convinced myself that I could have it all – career_ and_ Bella. I now dreaded the immediate reality before me: I was headed toward my big, empty apartment. Space was the very thing I didn't want between Bella and me. The further uptown we got, the more I doubted there was anything that could dull the pain of this development. Yes, I had my career. But it was all I had. It was full of promise. And it _would_ deliver, something I knew nothing about.

When I swung open the door to my apartment, memories instantly assaulted me. The memory of Bella being here in my home. I could've had her if I hadn't screwed up. She'd said I made my decision. I _had _made a decision, but not the one she thought. I did want to be with her. But it was too late now. The full brunt of my sacrifice hit me as I walked into the living room and dropped my briefcase on the floor.

It was too late to erase what happened. It was real.

* * *

I barely slept and by the time I arrived at the office well before eight the next morning I was in a truly foul mood. I hated the universe. It occurred to me as I took the elevator up to Finance that perhaps I should hate my career too. I wouldn't be in this pain had I not been working here, for this job was what led to me meeting Bella. Cullen, Inc. giveth and Cullen, Inc. taketh away. I'd never been so conflicted. I'd worked my entire life to get to where I was now. I was going to be a CEO at age thirty-five. Forbes Magazine wanted to put me on the cover of an upcoming issue. It now seemed they would have to Photoshop the frown off my face. Perhaps it would be appropriate to digitally alter my image into that of a sad clown.

Clown. I had once called one of Bella's disaster dates a clown. I remembered this from one of our early emails. The memory made my chest ache, the emptiness suddenly becoming more pronounced.

And it kept happening. I now understood why brokenhearted people saw their lost love in everything around them. Over the next hour, _everything _reminded me of Bella. I was at my computer, which reminded me of IT and emails, which reminded me of Bella. Crowley, too, had come in early, which reminded me of the early audit of IT, which reminded me of Bella. The janitor coughed, which reminded me of cough drops, which reminded me of HR's stash of cough drops, which reminded me of HR, which reminded me about my visits there to find out about Bella. I received a generic junk mail message from someone purporting to be a mail order Russian bride, which reminded me of Russians, which reminded me of Tanya (the lady with the walker) which reminded me of Bella's apartment, which reminded me of Bella. I saw a Finance employee just back from a trip to Greece, which reminded me of Greeks, which reminded me of Greek Gods, which reminded me of Hercules, which reminded me of Xena, which reminded me of the calendar that used to hang in IT, which reminded me of Bella. It was like the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, except Bella was of far greater interest to me than Mr. Bacon.

Bacon. Breakfast. Food. Bella. Would I ever be able to eat again without thinking of her? Would I waste away to nothing, unable to eat a bite of food without my stomach turning over?

Just when I was wondering if it could get any worse, Seth came in and reminded me one of the Smith and Sons executives was named Mr. Dean. I was almost ready to ask if Mr. DeLuca was going to be there too and whether he planned on restocking the heavy cream at the Madison location any time soon.

"Sir? Are you feeling all right?" Seth asked, his expression becoming increasingly concerned.

I was about to answer him when I noticed a box was sitting on my desk.

I was a selfish, selfish fool. I'd been so caught up in my own pain that I had failed to take note of Bella's. She wasn't even here in front of me and I was still forgetting her feelings. I thought of her down in IT and instantly felt even more ashamed. The box in front of me housed her pearls, a gift from her parents. They meant so much to her, and reminded me of how alone she was in this world. I was supposed to be the person to take that loneliness away, to surround her with love and warmth and family.

I wanted so badly to be that person. But it was too late.

"Sir?"

I looked up. Seth was still waiting for an answer. He also had a watering can in his hand, something I hadn't noticed mere moments ago. I often forgot that I had a potted plant here in the office.

I didn't answer immediately, taking another moment to regard the velvet box. Against my better judgment – which was not great judgment to begin with – I opened it. The pop of the clasp surprised me, but it was the direct sight of the heirloom that really shocked me. Bella didn't want anything more to do with me. She'd had enough. And now I had to return these pearls to her today, for she would truly resent me if I made her wait for something so important. She'd waited enough. She'd waited too long. And at least I could keep this one promise I'd made to her.

"You should dump that water on my head," I solemnly declared, waving my hand at the watering can. "Or at least sprinkle it lightly if it's not possible to dispense it that quickly."

"Yes, the wet hair look is very in, sir," Seth joked in an attempt to make me smile. "The ladies in the Art Department will swoon for hours. Enough time for me to steal one of their muffin baskets."

Little did Seth know that a reference to any _ladies _was exactly what I didn't need right now.

"Write this down," I began, speaking to him in a clipped tone. He winced – and here I didn't think I could feel worse than I already did. I couldn't do anything right. I was probably destined to push people away, even employees who liked me.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly as he retrieved a pen and notebook from his pocket. "I just...it's urgent."

"Yes, sir," he replied dutifully.

I gave him Bella's name and address. I would have to get this couriered.

"Have this delivered to that address," I instructed, reluctantly handing him the velvet box. "Make sure he hands them to her personally. I don't care how long he has to wait. Rain, hail, or shine, he better be there. Nothing short of the bubonic plague should stop him, and even then he should probably still wait."

"Understood." He looked down at his paper and stared at it before looking back up. "Isabella Swan? Can't I just have them sent downstairs?"

"Just do as you're told," I said with a heavy sigh. I almost sounded like I was whining.

"Yes, sir," he said sheepishly before turning around and heading back to his desk.

What was wrong with me? At this rate, I was six degrees away from Kevin Bacon finding out I was a douche.

Another fifteen minutes passed by. I was still in emotional distress. Every time I thought I'd figured out how heartbroken I was, the pain expanded yet again. It got bigger and bigger. And that's not _what she said_, as there isn't even any _she_ around.

I was alone.

The hum of my computer was the only sound I could hear. That is, until the motivational poster on the wall fell down.

Damn Art Department.

* * *

To say that the next few days were not the best in my professional career would be a gross understatement. New mothers were probably getting more sleep than I was. My concentration was so bad that I actually started humming the theme from _Footloose _in a follow-up meeting with Smith and Sons, all because I thought of Kevin Bacon, all because something else had reminded me of something else that reminded me of Bella. It was a disastrous impression, not only because I couldn't remember the chorus properly, but because the executives on the other side of the desk thought I was off my rocker. Carlisle was so unimpressed that he didn't even look at me for the rest of the meeting, which was fine with me because I wasn't really happy with him either.

He'd been married once. Gianna had really made him pay after the divorce. Perhaps she wasn't the cow everyone made her out to be.

Whoever said heartbreak got easier with time probably had a watch that ran fast. I felt _worse_ as the days dragged on. Seth, bless him, went out of his way to shadow me as much as possible. I needed constant babysitting. Even Crowley was following me around. The Corporate Babysitters Club. Maybe one of them could read me a story before naptime. One where the CFO gets the girl and lives happily ever after.

Today was proving to be another unproductive day. I'd already had to apologize to Heidi for being rude to her earlier. She must've been very offended, because she left her station and personally insisted on coming down to Finance. Poor Seth had to put up with her having her muffin and coffee at his desk.

I looked down at the report I was attempting to read but was interrupted by Seth opening my office door.

"Sir? Mr. Cullen is here to see you."

"Really?" I asked rather dumbly. I usually went to see Carlisle. I think he'd been in my office no more than twice in all the time I'd been here. This surely meant I was due for another talking to.

I stood when Carlisle came in and motioned for him to sit opposite me. He looked quite contemplative as he sat down, though that wasn't an odd look for him. CEOs always had a lot on their minds. CFOs, on the other hand, just had numbers and movie theme songs.

I waited for him to speak, knowing he didn't come here for a friendly chat about the Yankees or a briefing on some important matter. I was too tired to even know what constituted an important matter at the moment.

"I just saw your Ms. Swan," he finally said.

My heart constricted a little in my chest at the way he referred to her. I did nothing more than stare at him. This man – the very man who was giving me his company – had seen Bella mere minutes ago. I hadn't seen her in almost two weeks. He was putting the _mentor_ in _tormentor_.

I was miserable.

"She's not my – never mind," I eventually said, waving my hand dismissively. I'd anticipated and dreaded running into her in the hallways, and even loitered in the basement a few days ago, but I hadn't spotted her. I didn't know what I'd say if I did, but I just wanted to _see_ her. And now he had, which made me irrationally angry. "Was your computer broken or something?"

"That's the funny thing," he enunciated slowly. "I didn't see her here."

I shrugged, which was a better move than punching the table or screaming out "You can't handle the truth!" So maybe he thought he saw her on the street outside the building. Or maybe he was secretly taking smoke breaks and spying on people throughout the building, though I supposed I would know if he'd taken up smoking. After all, _word gets 'round in the corporate world_.

I wondered what people were saying about me. I wondered if I had the energy to care.

Carlisle regarded me silently while I waited for him to elaborate. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and tell him to get on with it. Talking about Bella hurt enough without his added obtuseness.

It annoyed me that _he _seemed annoyed that I was sitting here waiting him out. I wanted to tell him I didn't have time for this, but the reason I had no time was because it was taking me longer to get anything done these days.

"Let me ask you something," he finally said. I nodded and he continued. "Did you speak to Esme on her behalf to get her a job?"

I sighed in frustration and ran a hand across my face. "I thought we had this discussion. I wouldn't use Esme that way. You _know _me, Carlisle."

What would I give to have the people around me actually understand me? What amount of money would ever insure against the risk of me being deserted by the people in my life?

I mentally slapped myself. Insurance was a complicated field, full of assessments on pre-existing conditions and investigations of fault.

Carlisle seemed satisfied with my answer, but I wasn't fully certain of anything these days.

"Are you aware that she currently works at Esme's restaurant?" he asked.

My hand dropped heavily to my lap as I realized what he was telling me.

"No, I had no idea," I finally said, my voice just above a whisper.

I was dumbfounded. I didn't think my system could take any more shock.

Bella didn't work here. And I had absolutely no idea.

She'd left Cullen, Inc. for her dream job.

And rightly so. Who was I to expect her to stay? What did this company have for her? After all, it would soon be _my _company. I couldn't blame her for leaving and chasing her dream. I didn't want to blame her for anything. I just wanted to have her back in my life.

I also wanted Carlisle to leave so I could wallow in the depths of this misery. It wasn't as easy when I was self-conscious about it.

"You haven't been yourself for a while now," Carlisle remarked. "You're forgetting things, you're distracted, you look like you haven't slept in a month." He smiled at me sadly. "And I'll be damned if you break out in song during another meeting."

"I didn't break out in song," I said defensively. "It was just humming."

"Incorrect humming."

"Well, then _you_ hum it next time." I rubbed my eyes and groaned softly. "I'm sorry I've been off my game. I'll try to do better. I _am_ trying to do better. It'll pass. I just need time."

He cleared his throat. "Are you and she still...friends?"

I felt like I was being interrogated again and I didn't particularly care for it. If I had answers then I wouldn't be in this mess.

"Does it matter?" I asked, laughing bitterly.

"The thing is, Edward," he continued, "it appears you're not the only one in this misery."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're miserable too?"

"No, you dolt. Your Ms. Swan looks about the same as you. She's the miserable one. Even chewed me out when I spoke to her."

"That's my girl," I muttered. "Well, not really. Somebody else's girl one day. If not already. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"You're hopeless."

"And you're giving me your company."

"We're not talking shop," he clarified. "I know, I frequently forget too, but we are _not _talking shop right now. "

I was afraid that if I accepted him at his word and believed that Bella was miserable too that I was just setting myself up for further pain. Carlisle was not the best judge of relationships either, it could be argued, so there was no guarantee that his assessment was correct. He _was_ very good at judging businesspeople, but he said we weren't talking shop.

"Is she really upset?" I asked, allowing myself some sliver of hope that maybe our relationship was salvageable.

"Are you asking whether she is_ actually _upset or are you inquiring as to the_ degree _of the emotion?"

"You _know_ what I'm asking," I pressed.

"Yes, she's upset. Quite upset, I'd say."

I didn't know what to do with the confirmation. My brain didn't know how to approach it. Bella had basically given me the brush off, yet there could still be a chance. She hated our separation too, or so it seemed. Was there a possibility I could win her back? Ask her to give me another chance? One I would be damned if I would squander this time.

"Are you sure she doesn't just hate her new job?" I queried. My heart was pounding just a little bit faster than normal. Like I'd run a few miles on the treadmill. Except running on a treadmill was stationary, you never actually got anywhere for all your effort. That wouldn't be the case with Bella. Not this time. I wouldn't allow it.

He raised an eyebrow. "Have I already told you that you're hopeless?

I watched as he got up and walked toward my office door.

"Carlisle, wait –"

"Forty-second between Third and Lex," he called out as he left. "And yes, I _do_ know you."

It took me a short while to get energized. It was my routine now to check that I was firmly planted in reality before making any big decision. Pinching myself was only part of it.

_Right. I'm going to do this. I'm going to do this._

"Seth!" I hollered.

Yes, hollered. Like someone out of _Gone with the Wind_, a movie I still needed to see in its entirety.

"Yes, sir?" He looked at me nervously and I wondered just how much of this I'd been taking out on him. I made a mental note to tell him how much I appreciated his support.

"I appreciate your support," I blurted out.

Apparently my brain was still in beta mode.

"Um, thank you," Seth said modestly. "Just doing my job."

"Oh. I didn't mean to say that," I quickly corrected. "Well, I did mean to say that, but I was going to say it later, after I told you that I wanted to cancel all of today's appointments. So...cancel all of my appointments. I'm leaving. Clear the schedule like it has never been cleared before."

This was invigorating. Doing stuff felt invigorating.

"Mr. Masen," he said cautiously. "You have a busy schedule for the rest of the day and there's no wiggle room tomorrow."

"Make some," I said shortly. "Surely wiggle room can be manufactured at the best of times. Some things are more important than work and schedules, you know."

He looked at me oddly, most likely because he'd never heard me say such a thing with this much conviction. Or maybe because I just spoke of wiggle room as if it were a tangible product.

"Well, let's go," I urged, waving at him to hurry up.

"Go?" He pivoted in confusion. "But –"

"Cancel," I said in a drawn out voice. "We need to get moving."

I grabbed my briefcase while Seth made the necessary arrangements. It took longer than I expected, but it was also true that my perception of time _had _been off-kilter during my depressed state.

When an exasperated Seth was finally done with the new schedule, I grabbed my jacket and walked out of the Finance Department without looking back. Well, I looked back once, but only because Seth noticed there was water in the watercooler.

"It's a new day, Seth," I said enthusiastically as he walked beside me.

"Kind of, sir. It _is_ already two o'clock."

"Stop worrying about the cancellations. It'll be fine."

On a whim, I decided to take a detour to the Marketing Department. When I pressed the corresponding button in the elevator, Seth frowned the way most people react to the thought of Marketing. Still, I went on, undeterred.

Ignoring Victoria's protests that I stop and talk to her, I marched on with Seth following close by, and quickly found Whitlock's office. I stood in his open doorway. He seemed to be puzzling over something on his computer, which reminded me of IT, which reminded me of Bella. Which reminded me that I was on a mission.

"Hey, Jasper."

He looked up quickly, an almost frightened look on his face. "Did Victoria send you? I told her I would have the report back by the end of the day."

"No, no," I replied, shaking my head. "I just wanted to know if, well..." I scratched the back of my head and decided to take a chance. "Do you want to grab a beer after work?"

The fact was, I needed someone to talk to. Taking an hour to double-check my strategy seemed sensible. I owed it to Bella to think through my actions, to not just make assumptions and do whatever I thought best. Clearly, whatever I thought was best was often the contrary to what Bella expected or needed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a friend. Friends were helpful. And since I was so clueless, it wouldn't hurt to ask Jasper for his opinion on the situation. He seemed oddly informed when it came to my deficiencies, and besides, he was a nice guy. I'd underestimated him for too long..

"Sure, that sounds good," he said. "But I have to get through these reports..."

"Bring the reports with you." I looked at my watch. "As a matter of fact, what do you say we go now? We'll call it a working lunch."

"Working lunch?" he said, trying out the sound of the foreign concept.

"Yes, working lunch. Come on. There's this great deli where I get these sandwiches –"

"No," Seth interrupted. "Not there. Uh, not enough sitting room, sir."

"Oh, I know a place," Whitlock chimed in. "Did you know Alice is still in Egypt?"

"You're taking Mr. Masen to Egypt for lunch?" Seth asked tentatively.

"No," Whitlock replied. "Union Square."

"Exotic," I remarked, eager to get going. "Come on."

Victoria, it was clear, did not share my enthusiasm.

"Where are you going?" she yelled at Whitlock.

"He's leaving with me," I replied swiftly. "I need him for something."

"I don't give a damn. He has work to do. We have a meeting tomorrow. "

"Do you know who I am?" I challenged in a booming voice.

Everyone in our immediate vicinity went deadly quiet. All I could hear was the collective hum of their computers. This reminded me of IT, which reminded me of Bella, which reminded me I was on a mission.

Victoria was as shocked as her team.

"Do you know who I am?" I repeated. "Because sometimes I forget, you see. I'm a little absent-minded. I owe Whitlock here some lunch. I _just_ remembered. We better go before I forget again."

With a beaming smile, I walked into the elevator and told myself that my priorities were looking much better already.

* * *

**Thank you for your support and lovely reviews!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212, and arfalcon.**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Bella**_

Getting on with my life without Edward wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. My days were filled with cooking and making new friends with the staff at the restaurant. I'd already been through the worst life could hand me. Nothing would ever affect me as deeply as losing my parents, least of all getting the brush off from Edward Masen. I would come through this one way or the other.

Despite my busy days at the restaurant, I was having trouble sleeping and the fact that Edward and I had been together in my bed was a constant reminder of what I wanted but couldn't have. I was allowing myself time to grieve, to be sad about not only the loss of his friendship, but also the man I loved. I knew now that despite his flaws and his sometimes maddening behavior, I loved him completely. It would take time for me to move on. Sometimes, in the darkness of my bedroom, I was sure I would never love another man the way I loved him, but those thoughts were usually gone in the morning. Usually.

One of the best consequences of working in the restaurant was my new found friendship with Esme. The day after my pearls were returned, she noticed I looked tired and asked me about it. Initially, I gave her a vague answer, not fully understanding her ties to Edward, but she invited me to stay for a drink after my shift and I wound up telling her everything. She was supportive and understanding and promised me she wouldn't let what I'd told her affect her relationship with Edward.

We'd had drinks together after work a couple of times since then, and Rose even joined us once. Thankfully, they got along well – maybe I wasn't as bad at making friends as I thought. Though I guess Esme was just replacing Edward. Not in every way, of course. I liked her, but not that way. Besides, I'd looked into it – housing in Vermont was expensive and my cheese making skills were rusty. And nobody likes rusty cheese.

Just shy of two weeks from the day I'd last spoken with Edward, I came out of the kitchen to speak with Esme when Carlisle Cullen came strolling up to us. He only had eyes for Esme as he walked over to where we were standing at the bar. After he kissed her on the cheek and deigned to look in my direction, he seemed startled.

"Ms. Swan, I didn't know you were working here." He looked briefly at me before turning fully to Esme.

"Yes, well," she answered rather brusquely. "I'm very busy and I don't have time to tell you everything."

"Still, poaching my employees might have been something you'd want to mention."

I stood and watched their dynamic, wondering if this is how Edward and I would have been, and if maybe it was for the best that he'd blown me off. I didn't think I'd want to live like this, in constant battle for time and attention.

Not that I was given the opportunity to find out.

"You didn't even realize I was gone," I interjected. "Apparently, I'm easily replaceable. So I doubt when you found out really matters." I didn't blame Carlisle for my separation from Edward. But I didn't particularly care for him on a personal level, so I didn't feel it necessary to be kind. And any intimidation I felt in his presence was long gone.

"Edward didn't tell me either," he continued, seemingly undeterred.

"Well, since I doubt he knows, that seems logical," I replied. I regretted that I hadn't had a chance to share my news with Edward and thank him properly for the role he played. But it was too late now.

Carlisle looked taken aback for a moment before his face became impassive. "Huh. Well, that's interesting," he mumbled.

"It's nice to know my life is a source of interest for you. I know some good Spanish telenovellas you can watch if I ever start boring you. Now if you'll excuse me." I looked at Esme briefly before turning around and walking toward the kitchen.

"Really, Carlisle," I heard her say as I walked away. "You're so insensitive."

I didn't hear his response as the door swung closed behind me.

* * *

_**Edward**_

Union Square wasn't quite Egypt, but the advice I needed from Whitlock was going to be just as foreign. I was seeking relationship advice. As in "how to have a chance at a relationship before you screw things up and end up alone with many, many cats." I wasn't entirely sure whether the concept of a Cat Lady was gender specific – somehow _Cat Man_ sounded like a comic book adaptation gone wrong. Either way, the sentiment was the same: I didn't want to end up living alone with only my pets to keep me company. Not only would such an existence involve a lot of kitty litter, but veterinarians were very expensive. I'd have to work the same hours in order to afford the best care...and to distract myself from the fact that I was doomed never to have any meaningful (human) connections.

"Mase?"

I looked up to see Whitlock looking at me from across the table. Looking at me with concern was quickly becoming the standard reaction to my presence. Having been jolted out of my paranoia, I quickly apologized and fell back on my default position: business. I would have to ease into the relationship stuff.

_You know what people say: Don't want to look too eager. _

Who was I kidding? I wasn't even sure if people said that. Maybe that was just what morons like me _thought _people said.

"It's okay," Whitlock said. "Take your time. I like taking time to think too."

I quickly shook my head. "I'm sorry. Where was I?"

"You're in a restaurant."

I looked around, even though I was perfectly aware that I was in a restaurant.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, yes. Thank you."

"You were giving me a rundown of the report, and then you got distracted. Right about the time the server said her name was Rosemary."

Ah, Rosemary. Like the herb. The herb that Bella knew to use when making chicken pot pies.

Bella. I needed to convince her I was serious about _us._

"Yes, that's right," I said, getting back to the conversation at hand. "Well, that was mostly it. But take care to note that the analysis in the report suggests we can expect a fourteen percent profit for the quarter."

He'd been having a bit of trouble interpreting the data in a number of reports. I was helping him; it was the least I could do.

"Okay. Fourteeeeen," Whitlock said, writing down the number on a notepad next to his plate. "Is that everything?"

"I think so. I doubt Victoria will ask anything beyond what we've discussed. Anyway, you can call me if there's anything else that doesn't make sense." I paused. "Business-wise, I mean."

He nodded, scribbling down a few more notes. "Call Mase if something doesn't make sense," he said to himself. "He is _business-wise_."

I smiled. "At least I'm wise in some respect," I said ruefully before taking a sip of my beer.

Whitlock pointed his pen at me. "I have one more question, Mase."

"Shoot."

He frowned and retracted his hand. "Oh, I wasn't going to use that as a weapon."

I took his confusion in stride. "I know. What was your question?"

"You look terrible. What's going on with you?," he asked, leaning forward. I half-expected him to retrieve a magnifying glass from his pocket so he could look at me more closely. Or you know, to burn ants or something.

"I..." I trailed off, not sure where to begin. Now that I was here and faced with having to deal with the situation I created, I was nervous again.

"It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Yeah, the most important woman ever," I said, relieved he'd said it before I choked on my own tongue trying to get it out. It was one thing to get spinach stuck in your teeth. Having words stuck in your throat was worse, especially if they're meaningful words. No one ever choked on empty ones.

Whitlock nodded and smiled knowingly. "Is it that nice woman from the Frick benefit? I liked her. Did she leave you?"

"Well, uh...yes." There was no point sugarcoating it. "Yes, she did. That night was only part of the reason, though. It's...I'm not sure if it's complicated. I guess it's rather simple. I screwed up."

"What exactly did you do?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in judgment. The judgment was justified, so it wasn't like I judged his judgment. I deserved to be judged.

"Technically speaking, I blew her off," I admitted. "Twice."

"Technically speaking?"

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. I really was frustrated with myself. "No, no. I did blow her off. Sorry, that was me–"

"Trying to be technical?"

"Yeah. Actually, I wasn't even trying to be technical. It just came out that way."

"So you don't want to be with her." His response was almost casual in its finality, like my actions had said it all.

"No, that's just it. I _do_ want to be with her," I insisted. "I went about things the wrong way. I didn't know how wrong I was and I ruined everything."

Now he looked really confused. "Then why did you blow her off? And not just once, but twice? When you do something twice, it's like you're trying to make sure you did it right the first time."

"I'm an idiot," I declared with a helpless shrug. "I was busy and put my job before my relationship with her. I figured she'd understand."

Whitlock took a moment to respond, taking a sip of his drink before looking me square in the eye. He was obviously psyching himself up to say something really important. I braced myself for the insight.

"Wow, Mase. You _are _an idiot."

Ah. Well, it was still a good idea to brace myself.

I nodded vigorously. "I am. I agree. But the thing is, I don't _want _to be an idiot. Not that people ever want to be an idiot. A lot of idiots don't know they're being idiotic. Am I rambling? Anyway, my point is that I can't ever seem to do anything right where she's concerned."

God, could I sound any more pathetic?

_Note to God: that was not me asking to sound more pathetic. It was a rhetorical question. I apologize for the confusion, and for all other confusion I cause in this world, or at the very least, in New York City._

"Okay, let me help you," Whitlock began, sounding more encouraging. "Last Wednesday, Victoria wanted me to work late. But I had a Skype date with Alice. A _date_. So you know what I did? I went home and talked to my wife. Simple, right?"

"I don't have the same options you do," I said defensively.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I can't always blow off work," I continued. "What I do is too important. There are people depending on me. The company depends on me. Everyone who depends on the company depends on me. I have to be dependable."

"Yes, you do," he said pointedly.

"You mean I should be dependable when it comes to my personal relationships, right?" I surmised.

"Yep."

"But it's not that easy!"

He shrugged. "It's your choice."

"I... but..." My brain couldn't come up with one defense against what he just said. Because he was right. I _had_ made the conscious decision to put my career before Bella. "There has to be a way for me to have both."

The oft-cited goal of "having it all" meant something different in my case, but the general idea was the same. I wanted to have a work life _and _a personal life.

"Seems to me like you're talking to the wrong person," Whitlock advised. "Go talk to her. Twice, if you have to."

I frowned. "That's kind of the problem. I'm not sure she wants to see me. Even if she is as miserable as...someone said she is...it doesn't mean she wants to work things out."

"You think way too much. You're going to get a headache."

"I just don't want to do the wrong thing," I lamented. "I've made promises before that I've blatantly broken. I'm not sure she'll trust me."

"You can't exactly blame her." He took another sip of beer before continuing. "So what's the game plan now? How are you going to earn back her trust?"

I put my head in my hands and practically groaned out loud. "I'm not sure what the plan is, but I need one that's sure to work. Any ideas?"

"You don't need an idea," he said with confidence. "You need to find her and tell her how you feel."

"But–"

"Just go. If she feels the same way you do, she'll come around."

"But–"

"All I'm hearing is blah blah blah I'm a lazy CFO." He immediately waved over a member of the waitstaff. "Take this man's beer away. He needs to go somewhere."

"Wait a minute–"

"He needs to get to an AA meeting, please take his beer away!"

"Jasper, I'm trying to get your advice before I go see her! I screw up a lot. I need to be sure–"

"No, I won't let you fall off the wagon!"

With our confused server not entirely sure what to do, I made things easier by relinquishing the drink. Whitlock shot me another "why are you still sitting down" look, so I responded verbally.

"Shouldn't we talk about your life now?" I quickly asked. "That's how friendships work, right? This has been rather one-sided."

"_Later_, Mase."

Realizing he was right, I took out my wallet in order to take care of the bill.

He waved his hand dismissively. "What are you doing? I'm Carlisle Cullen's son-in-law. I have money."

"Oh, but–"

"You're giving me a headache."

I was giving myself a headache. I needed to stop over-thinking. I needed to stop doubting myself.

I stood up and nodded at Jasper. He nodded in return and then saluted me.

_I'm going to go get my girl and tell her what she means to me!_

It took me several seconds to realize that everyone in the restaurant was staring at me. Including the server who had just taken my beer away.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" I asked tentatively.

Several patrons smiled and nodded. Whitlock just laughed.

Damn brain. Still in beta mode.

"Well, I'll be going now," I told my captive audience. "Enjoy your meal. Tip generously. My girl works in a restaurant. I don't know whether it's as good as this one. She's a chef, though, so I guess you needn't tip–"

"Just go!" someone yelled out from the far side of the room.

"Yes, going now!"

With even more motivation than before, I fled the restaurant and flagged down a cab.

I just hoped I wasn't too late.

One stop and forty minutes later, I walked through the door of the _Midtown Grill _with sweaty palms and a nervous stomach, which, while not the best state of affairs, was infinitely better than nervous palms and a sweaty stomach. I was thankful for such mercies, as I needed all the luck I could get. But really, it was up to me to make my own luck, to take charge and make things swing my way.

I looked around quickly and spotted Esme by the bar. She locked eyes with me and then took in my appearance, shaking her head a little. I daresay she seemed somewhat underwhelmed by my sudden intrusion into her workspace. Then again, it was possible all the attention I'd inadvertently received in Union Square had gone to my head. After all, I was not the most important person in the world.

That title belonged to Bella.

"In the kitchen," Esme said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder and then going back to the conversation she'd been having.

I hadn't been aware that Esme was telepathic, but I was most certainly thankful she knew what was going on in my head.

I walked briskly toward the kitchen, lest I lose my nerve. It wasn't quite a jog, but it was more than a power-walk. I didn't want to cause alarm, like a health inspector rushing into a rat-infested kitchen. Despite these intentions, a jolt of adrenaline hit me when I swung open the door, and I could no longer guarantee such patience and grace. Though there were people and tons of activity, I spotted Bella almost immediately. All of a sudden, it was like every neuron in my brain knew that something important was happening; I felt hyper-aware. There she was, her face sweaty and a bandanna tied around her hair. She seemed to be concentrating on chopping something, and even though such a task was not terribly glamorous, she looked absolutely stunning. I missed her so much. My life was empty without her and I wasn't leaving here without getting what I came for.

She was unaware of my presence as I walked over to the counter where she was working. I stopped in front of it, my shadow falling across her work area like some sort of kitchen eclipse. She slowly raised her head and looked at me, her eyes going wide as she took a step back.

"Bella."

She gasped and clutched her knife a little tighter. I didn't know if she was going to have a heart attack or stab me. Both outcomes were undesirable, but if I had to choose, I would sacrifice myself and take the wound.

"What are you doing here?" Bella asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Before we get to that, can I ask you to put down the knife?" I asked gently. "You're kind of scaring me."

She looked at the knife in her hand, appearing slightly surprised that it was there. Surprise knives weren't exactly something that sat well with me, but before I could think about that further, a smirk crept across Bella's face. A degree of confidence now radiated from her stance.

"I think I'll hold onto it," she announced. "Just in case."

"Just hear me out before you do anything drastic, okay?" I smiled back at her but any good humor she might have had seemed to disappear. It was then that I noticed the dark circles under her eyes and her pale skin. She also looked like she'd lost a few pounds, which she could ill afford as it was. I had this sudden vision of me taking her out to dinner, stuffing her full of rich food, and then escorting her back to my apartment and tucking her into bed.

"What do you want?" she asked, her face and posture hostile.

"I want you to be happy," I blurted out. "I want to make you happy. Please help me make you happy."

Her shoulders slumped and she walked to the counter, dropping her knife and resting her hands on the edge. "I can't keep doing this with you," she whispered.

"I know. I'm a screw up. I've treated you abominably and made you feel like you weren't as important as my job."

"I _wasn't_."

"You were. You are," I implored, gesturing with my hands. "I just didn't know it. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," she said, looking briefly at someone who was carrying a tray before gazing back at me.

The forlorn expression on her face was more than killing me. I tried to explain myself, desperate to convey my sincerity. "Listen, I've lived my whole adult life for one thing and one thing only: my career. In fact, my pre-adult life was geared toward this job too. It's what I know. Relationships were a distraction and not even a secondary consideration. Hell, tabulating reports was more important than considering a woman's feelings."

"Then why are you here?" she pressed.

"Let me finish," I pleaded.

"Go ahead," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I was wired to operate in a certain way. I was set for life. And then you sent me that ridiculous email and nothing has been the same since. I've never had to consider another person's feelings, or think about the consequences of whatever I say or do."

Her response was direct. "You can still have it that way. Unless you meet someone you want to put before your career."

"I _have _met that person." I stepped closer to her, the counter the only thing separating us. "I've been stupid, Bella. But I want you in my life more than I want anything else."

"I'm sorry, but I don't really believe that," she swiftly replied, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "Almost everything you've done has shown the exact opposite."

I reached across the counter and took her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. She didn't let go. Surely that was a good sign. Unless there was a surprise knife in her other hand, I was willing to bet it was a good sign.

"I'll quit," I declared. "I'll leave Cullen, Inc. behind if that means I get to keep you."

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. "You don't mean that," she asserted.

"Yes I do. Completely."

I understood now. Here I stood at the crossroads. While I still wanted to believe that traversing both paths was possible, to have the best of both worlds, I was not about to let optimism cloud my judgment. If this was the only way, if I had to make a choice, I needed to pick Bella. Otherwise I'd be condemning myself to an existence that was not only intolerable for myself, but possibly just as devastating for Bella. That is, _if_ she felt as strongly for me as I did for her.

Bella seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I'll call Carlisle right now," I continued, letting go of her hand so I could retrieve my phone from my pocket. A couple of the cooks were openly gaping at us, but I didn't care. I was through with hiding how I felt about Bella.

She snapped into action, raising her hand to stop me. "Don't."

"Why not?"

Did she not want me? Was she telling me that I needn't make the choice? That the only path left for me was the very one I'd been traveling on my whole life?

"I won't be responsible for this," she replied. "It's not fair."

I nodded my head slowly, all the while trying to figure out what she really meant. With my phone back in my pocket, I continued with my plea.

"Give me a chance, Bella. Don't run from me, just give me a chance. Enough of a chance to prove that I'm willing to learn and capable of changing. I'm going to screw up, that I can guarantee. In fact, I'll be the first to admit I'm an idiot. But I'm an idiot who's in love with you, and I'll do _anything _to have you in my life."

Bella simply stared at me. I, too, was shocked. I hadn't planned on declaring my love for her, because I hadn't consciously thought of the L word. But the words felt completely right as I'd said them; comfortable and sure. It was a certainty I hoped would help my cause and not destroy it.

"What did you just say?" Bella whispered.

"I said I'm an idiot who's in love with you," I affirmed. "The more important thing being that I'm in love with you, not so much that I'm an idiot."

Before she could respond I reached in my pocket and took out an envelope. Something important was inside. Important things were often delivered in envelopes. College acceptance letters. Official statements. Confidential documents. This was certainly about acceptance, and indeed it was official, but it didn't necessarily have to be confidential. I wanted the whole world to know I loved this woman. Especially one country in particular.

I held the envelope out to her. "I want you to take this. Give me until December and I'll prove to you that I can make you happy. I'm not going to be perfect. I'll probably need to reschedule a date or two and work on the occasional holiday, but I promise you there will never be a time when you'll doubt my love for you."

She looked at the envelope for a moment as if she wasn't sure it was real. She then took it wordlessly, opening the seal and inspecting the contents.

"A ticket to Ireland," she said softly. "Leaving December twentieth." She looked up at me, a tear slipping out of her eye.

"Please don't cry. I don't want to make you cry anymore." I grabbed at my hair in frustration. If she wasn't going to give me a chance...I honestly had no idea what would be next for me. She was it. If she wanted nothing to do with me, I was doomed to be alone and miserable for the rest of my life and every other life after this one. I wasn't even sure if I believed in reincarnation, but I knew the pain would be deep. Hey, if I _were_ Cat Man, at least I'd know I had _nine_ lives of excruciating heartache. Though perhaps I deserved _eternal _damnation for my mistakes.

_Please give me a chance._

"I'm scared," Bella whispered, looking over at me with big watery brown eyes.

Taking her hand again, I tugged her around the counter so she was standing in front of me.

Ready to learn my fate, I let go of her hand and leaned down to kiss each of her tired eyes. "I love you. Please help me make this right."

She looked up at me and seemed to search my face for something. She grabbed the lapels of my jacket in her fists, let out a long breath, and then rested her forehead on my chest.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me, my stomach in knots as I waited for her to give me some indication as to what she was going to do.

When her arms slowly wound their way around me, my relief was so profound it made my knees weak.

* * *

**Thank you for reading.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212, and arfalcon. Their quick turn around time allowed us to have this posted today.**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

_**Bella**_

I never would have been able to predict yesterday's events.

When I looked up and saw Edward standing in front of me, I initially thought I'd gone insane. Heartbreak-induced hallucinations were no laughing matter, and I was at work, no less. There was no way this Edward could be real. Not only did he look terrible, but he was "appearing" during business hours. Unless Wall Street had secured a special bank holiday I knew nothing about, this was not the man I'd been crying over.

So imagine my shock when I realized I wasn't hallucinating. He _was _real.

Unfortunately, so was my pain. I was wary of him, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say. I even refused to put down my knife. Sure, I would never stab him, but this way I was free to immediately distract myself by finely dicing something. Like a tomato. Or the tension in the air.

However, despite my reservations, I listened. I listened to his apology and his concessions. He even offered to quit his job if it meant we could be together.

And then he told me he was in love with me.

I honestly could have keeled over right there from shock, but that wouldn't have helped, as I wanted to double check that I'd heard him correctly. He repeated the declaration, along with the fact he was an idiot. He seemed so earnest and sincere and I really wanted to believe what he was saying. I wanted to believe he was in love with me, not so much that he was an idiot.

Part of me wanted to hold my ground, to tell him I didn't believe he could change and he should take a hike. A really long hike. Like from Midtown to Florida. But one thing held me back, and it wasn't the fear of old people hitting on Edward in sunny weather.

I loved him. It was no more complicated than that. He had the potential to devastate me, but not giving him a chance would also deny me a happiness I was sure I wouldn't find anywhere else. I would need to be careful, however, and I would make it clear to him that this chance wasn't a free pass. He had to earn back my trust and we both had to put serious effort into this relationship.

So I put the plane ticket to Ireland in my dresser drawer, along with the three little words I was holding back, and decided to wait and see what happened.

Our first "date" was the day after Edward showed up at the restaurant. I'd considered meeting him straight from work, but figured I needed to dress up just in case we were going to a fancy, secret restaurant that only rich people knew about. I didn't want us to arrive somewhere only for me to run out in embarrassment. We were finally trying to make this work and I wanted to feel good about myself.

When Edward appeared at my door, my confidence was a little shaken; the butterflies were back. He looked all handsome and happy, yet all I could think about was how monumental this moment was. Things had changed. This actually felt like a first date. I told the butterflies to migrate early, or to at least settle down. This night was too important to screw up with my nerves.

"You look pretty," Edward said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Very pretty, actually."

"Thanks, so do you," I said. "Handsome. You look handsome. I mean, you can look pretty too, but handsome is probably better."

He chuckled. "I'll take both. Greed is good. Well, that's what I learned in business school."

"So, where are we going?" I asked.

"Le Bernardin. My parents love it there. _Three_ Michelin stars, as my mother would say."

My eyes went wide as I stood there gaping at him.

"What?" he asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Too much? Not in the mood for seafood? I want to treat you like a queen, that's all. A French one, perhaps. Though maybe not Marie Antoinette. I like cake, but not executions. They're –"

"Edward, stop," I interrupted. "It's just... it takes months to get into Le Bernardin. Months. There's a waiting list."

"Oh no." He grinned. "I guess we'll have to camp out on 51st Street. Months, you say? You're lucky I like you."

"You're lucky I like camping."

I didn't actually like camping–too many bugs and I didn't like an iffy toilet situation–but I didn't want him to think this was going to be too easy. Anyway, he ushered me out of my apartment and to a waiting car, where we sat in the back seat and tried to act natural. Problem was, this was a new thing for us so there was a bit of awkwardness. We both seemed determined to push through it, however, and soon enough we were at the best restaurant in the city.

"That wait was shorter than expected," I said after we were seated. "I was looking forward to camping. You are an Eagle Scout, after all."

"Very true. But I think the food might be better in here than what I can forage on the sidewalk."

We were sitting at a small table in the back corner. It was intimate, but I tried not to think of _getting _intimate, as this was our first date and he still had a lot to prove. That being said, he did not need to prove his skills in bed, as we had already slept together. But that was beside the point.

Concentrating on the extensive menu rather than on Edward's extensive skills, I tried to decide what to order. I wanted to make the right choice since this could very well be my only time in this world-renowned restaurant and I wanted to make the most of it. It was difficult though, since everything was sure to be delicious. I looked up and saw Edward staring at me.

"You've decided?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"I think so," I replied with a nod. "Yes. I would like you to hunt for a hot dog from a street vendor, and maybe a leftover salad from a trash can."

"I can't wait to hear what you'd like for dessert."

I laughed. "I'm going to have the oysters first, then the tuna for my entree."

He winked at me as the waiter came by to take our order.

"Elle va prendre les huîtres et le thon. Je vais prendre le saumon et le bar, s'il vous plaît. Et une bouteille de Coche-Dury Meursault-Les Perrières Premier Cru, 1999."

"Très bien, monsieur," the waiter said, taking our menus and leaving.

Without my menu, I had nothing to fan myself with. Edward speaking French was a major turn on. It was definitely hot in here. I waved my hand in front of my face and then realized that he could see me doing that.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked, slightly alarmed.

"Yep, fine." I cleared my throat and took a huge gulp of ice water. Something had to cool me off. "Just don't speak French again."

"Sorry. I'm already screwing up," he said ruefully, grabbing at his previously perfectly coiffed hair. "I suppose that was rude of me?"

"No, it's not that. Um, don't worry about it." I looked down momentarily, feeling bad that I'd said anything. I was anxious, and Edward looked to be feeling the same. "Actually, do worry about it. Well, not worry per se. It's just that when you speak French, the, uh, temperature goes up."

"Oh." He paused. "It gets...hot?"

"Yes. Very."

"Comment chaude? Très chaud?"

"I have no idea what you just said, but I'm going to pretend that you asked me to do this," I announced, pushing my chair back a fraction. I practically climbed over the table and grabbed the lapel of his jacket. I ignored the shocked look on his face as I pulled him toward me and planted my lips on his. I didn't care that we were in a restaurant and that people would see us. Apparently, neither did Edward. After his initial surprise, he kissed me back passionately, his hand on my cheek.

After we broke the kiss, we kind of just sat back into our seats for an extended moment. It was a relief, at least for me, to have some of that sexual tension relieved.

Edward himself looked suitably bemused. "What was that for?" he asked brightly, eyebrows raised.

I shrugged. "For being, you know, _you_. All multi-lingual and...good at jumping to the head of the line."

"Well, all right then."

It was then that we realized our waiter was standing by, bottle of wine in hand. Luckily, he took the PDA in stride, acting like it happened all the time. Maybe it did. This was indeed a romantic spot. Besides, I was sure rich people got away with all sorts of things the rest of us didn't while the help stood by with the same stoic look our waiter wore.

Once the wine was poured, Edward toasted to our new beginning. It was certainly a moment filled with hope and quiet optimism.

It was only after our fantastic dinner, when we were back at my apartment, that we were reminded of the issues we still needed to work on. There were times when you _had_ to wait.

We were kissing and groping on my couch when I decided to take things further. We'd already been to bed, I justified to myself, so what would it matter if we did it again? Having him here like this, with his lips on mine and his hands everywhere else, was clouding my judgment.

"Let's go to bed," I said after my lips were swollen from so many kisses.

Edward pulled back and closed his eyes briefly before looking at me. "I'd really, really like that."

"Good, let's go," I said, getting off of his lap and taking his hand.

I tugged, but my arm almost dislocated from its socket and I stumbled over my feet. He wasn't moving.

"What?" I asked.

He motioned for me to come closer so I crawled back into his lap and twined my fingers into the hair on the back of his head.

He kissed me softly on the lips and then regarded me with serious eyes. "I love you."

"I..." I wanted to say the words, but they died in my throat.

Edward looked at me with a sad expression. "That's why we can't."

"I want to say it." I insisted. "I just..."

"You don't trust me."

I wanted to protest, but I knew he was right. No matter how much I loved him, and I did, part of me was expecting him to break my heart.

"That's why I gave you the ticket. It's just three months. We can wait. Only let me take you away if you trust me."

I nodded and kissed him one more time for the night. He was right. It was only three months. If I didn't trust him by then–if he couldn't prove he could be trusted–then this wasn't the real deal.

Green rolling hills and rainbows were possibly on the horizon, but I wasn't sure yet.

* * *

We took our physical relationship slowly, but we were full steam ahead in every other area. We reinstated our Sunday coffee date at Dean & DeLuca, though now Edward insisted on picking me up instead of meeting me there. He held my hand while we walked and when the weather started to get chilly, he put his arm around me to keep me warm.

Sometimes we would go somewhere after coffee, like the Central Park Zoo or The Met, and sometimes he had to work. I would usually see him again late on Wednesday night for dinner, and again on either Friday or Saturday night when he took me to the best restaurants in the city.

He was attentive and sweet and we spent a lot of time talking and getting to know each other again. The right way, this time. I told him about the house fire that killed my parents and how deeply their deaths affected me. And how, as a consequence, I rarely allowed myself to get close to anyone.

He told me about his distance from his parents and how he sometimes missed how close they were when he was a child, and how most of the relationships in his life were transitory and shallow. But he was trying to change that with me and his new friend Jasper Whitlock. That relationship surprised me initially, but once I saw them together, it made perfect sense. They were complete opposites and complemented each other perfectly. If I wasn't sure he was straight I might have been worried.

We had dinner with Rose and Emmett a few times and despite the fact I knew they were wary of Edward, they warmed up to him again almost immediately. When I asked Rose about it later she shrugged her shoulders. "It's obvious he's crazy about you. People are allowed to make mistakes. As long as they learn from them."

My job at the restaurant was everything I could have hoped for and more. The hours were long and the work was hard, but it was fulfilling and creative and fun. Esme was great to work for, and she even ran my chicken pot pie as a special. It was so well-received she put it on the menu permanently. We called it _Grandma Masen's Chicken Pot Pie._Edward came in for lunch at least twice a week and ordered it every time.

Edward had to postpone on me a couple of times, but I took it in stride. I heard the slight tremble in his voice the first time he called to tell me he had to work and couldn't make our Wednesday night date. My heart skipped a beat, but I reminded myself the old Edward might not have called at all. I reassured him the best I could that I wasn't angry and that I was looking forward to our Saturday date. We had reservations at Bull and Bear, which was apparently the steakhouse at the Waldorf-Astoria and not some finance conference. I couldn't wait to eat a big fat steak that I hadn't cooked myself. Maybe I would skip lunch and save room for extra sides and a rich dessert.

But when he called me that Saturday afternoon and opened with "I'm sorry," I knew that steak would have to wait.

"It's okay," I said. "Really."

"It's not, but this is very important. The takeover I was telling you about hit a snag and I need to have these numbers worked out for legal by tonight."

I took a deep breath and willed myself to sound upbeat. I had to learn to expect this and handle it like an adult if our relationship was ever going to work. "Okay. I'm not going to lie, I'm disappointed. But you won't get rid of me that easily. In fact, I hereby decree that you are permitted to make this up to me. I'm very generous, aren't I?"

"I will definitely make it up to you. Write a list of things I need to do."

"Hold on, I need a pen..."

"Though I must warn you, I'm not much of a handyman, so it can't be anything like that," he added playfully.

"I just want you, Edward. No toolbox required."

I spent the evening convincing myself that his cancellation wasn't a big deal. That he was trying and I had to put in the same effort to understand how important his business was to him. I wasn't playing second fiddle, I was just sharing first chair. The problem was, I had to spend time assuring myself of these things. That in and of itself was a problem.

I was surprised when Edward texted me at eleven-thirty that night asking me if I was still awake. When I texted back that I was, there was a knock on my door thirty seconds later.

He stood there, looking rumpled and tired and a little bit shy. "I missed you," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

I pulled him into my apartment and then into my embrace, so happy he was here. He held me tightly and sighed tiredly into my neck. "Thank you," he said.

"For what? Letting you in? It's not like I could stop you. This isn't a doorman building. Unless you count Old Tanya. She guards that door like Cerberus."

"Shhh," he said, kissing me softly and smiling against my lips. "I mean thank you for not being angry that I had to cancel again."

"Oh, that." I took his hand and led him over to the couch where he sat wearily. "Did you finish your work?" I asked, sitting on my knees next to him.

"Yeah." He ran a hand over his face. " I would have much rather been with you, though."

"I don't know," I said, readjusting myself on the couch so I was sitting on the opposite end. "I'm sure staring at spreadsheets is riveting." I grabbed his hand and had him lean over until his head was in my lap.

He looked up at me and smiled as I ran a hand through his hair. "Staring at you is much more enjoyable. You don't start to blur together when I'm tired. You always make perfect sense."

He wound up spending the night–mostly platonically–and when I woke up the next morning, I knew something had shifted in our relationship. He'd missed me as much as I'd missed him and instead of just saying it, he'd backed it up with action. I finally felt like I was his priority.

Laying on his side next to me, he put a gentle hand on my cheek and smiled sleepily at me. I snuggled close to his chest and tangled my legs with his. Warm, sleepy Edward was nice.

"Do you have to work today?" I asked after a while.

"Only working on making up last night to you," he said, running a hand up and down my back.

"There's nothing to make up for," I said, pulling away slightly so I could look at him. "This is bound to happen again. I'm just glad you came over last night."

"Me too," he said, pulling me close and kissing me.

"Do you want me to make breakfast?" I asked. "I have... something, I'm sure."

"Nah, it's Sunday. Let's go for coffee and we'll pick up a paper and see what there is to do today."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, Ms. Swan."

"Sorry, I just have a few things to do today."

"Such as?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I need to do laundry, pay some bills, do some food shopping."

He looked a little saddened. "And you don't want me to be around while you do that?"

"You'd want to do that with me? Have you ever even been to a Laundromat?"

"Um, no. I send my laundry out. And I'm pretty sure there's a washer and dryer somewhere in my apartment. I'm just not exactly sure where."

I rolled my eyes and moved a lock of hair off of his forehead. "Are you sure I won't be boring you to tears?"

"Bore me? Anything is exciting when I'm with you," he said more brightly. "Except for maybe _Gone with the Wind._But in my defense, I was tired and you fell asleep too."

"Well, in that case, we better get going," I happily replied, buoyed by the fact that I'd be able to spend even more time with him today. "If we move quickly enough, we can probably fit in _Gone with the Wind_ between laundry and food shopping."

"Let's not overwhelm the schedule now..."

I giggled as he held me tighter and placed a kiss on my forehead.

There was no denying it. I was happy.

Forty minutes later, we walked into Dean & DeLuca, hand in hand. After Edward placed our orders, we sat in our usual spot and divvied up the Sunday paper.

But I wasn't concentrating on _The Minimalist_ column in the _Dining & Wine_ section. I was focusing on Edward and watching him sip his coffee and eat his scone while he scanned the paper. I loved watching the way his face changed based on what he was reading. Apparently today's news was either irritating or confusing. Those expressions were easily mixed-up.

I smiled as I watched him, thinking about that first inappropriate email I sent him which led to our first time here. I had been so uncomfortable and intimidated and unsure of myself. He was powerful, wealthy, handsome, and incredibly smart. I was just me. But for some reason he kept seeking out my company and now sitting here with him was completely natural. It was right. _We_ were right.

"Edward?"

"Hm?" he said, tearing his eyes away from the paper and looking over at me.

"I really, really love you."

His face went from mildly interested to blindingly happy in a split second. He took my hand across the small table then leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. "I really, really love you too." He paused, the expression on his face momentarily nervous. "So...can I be your boyfriend now?"

I laughed. He really was adorable. "Yes, Edward. You can be my boyfriend."

_Looks like I'll be spending Christmas in Ireland after all._

* * *

**Next chapter will be the last and should post in two weeks.**

**In the meantime, have a gander at our profile, where you'll find a link to the hotel where Edward and Bella will be staying in Ireland. You can probably guess which room Edward booked (hint: check out the Photo Tour!).**

**Note: Yes, we know Le Bernardin is being renovated this month, but it's still 2010 in DMM world.  
**

**Thank you for reading and for your kind reviews.**

**Twitter: (at)jenndema and (at)belladonna1472  
**


	24. Chapter 24

**We wrote an outtake for Fandom4SAA which is now posted in our profile under: _From the Desk Of… _**

**Thank you to SR, Lucette212, and arfalcon. **

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

When my parents and I moved to Washington, we drove across country. It was a long, boring trip with stops at inexpensive hotels for a quick sleep and shower. By the time I was accepted at U-Mass, my parents were doing a little better financially so I was able to fly and have my boxes shipped. It was my first time on an airplane and I was excited and a little nervous.

My stomach flip-flopped from sheer excitement when I boarded. My mother booked my flight and insisted, worrier that she was, that I sit in the back since it was the safest place in the event of a crash.

But it was hard to stay excited for long. I was seated next to someone who badly needed a shower, the food was a microwaved hot dog and wilted salad, and worst of all, I was right next to the bathroom. The stench gave me a headache and turned my stomach. It was all capped off with Stinky falling asleep and drooling on my shoulder.

I had been on an airplane since, but my flying experience could only be described as limited and terrible.

Until Edward Masen took me to Ireland for Christmas.

It started off with dedicated check-in (no line!), a lounge where we waited for our flight (free pastries, coffee, and booze!), and pre-boarding. We were sitting comfortably in huge seats, being offered juice and champagne, or both, as everyone else was herded into coach.

It was surreal.

"Do you always travel like this?" I asked Edward during take off.

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a sip of his mimosa.

"Like... this," I said, waving my hand around the business class cabin.

"Yes."

"Have you ever flown coach?"

"Coach?"

"You know, where all the normal people sit."

"Normal people?"

"Non-business people."

"Business people are normal."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "So, as a normal business person, have you ever flown coach?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know... low on funds? Seeing how the other half lives? Shits and giggles?"

He scoffed and put his drink down. "Seriously?"

"Let's fly home coach. It'll be an experience for you. Like having to do your own laundry or take the subway."

"I've taken the subway," he said defensively. "Seth took me once. It was...more shits than giggles."

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to this," I said, sighing and leaning over to kiss his cheek.

A seven hour flight is a seven hour flight, but reclining seats, a choice of rubber food, a personal entertainment center, and most of all Edward, make it just a tad more enjoyable.

There was a car and driver waiting for us when we landed. Not only that, but the concierge met us in the lobby of the hotel and escorted us up to our room without any apparent check-in process. When we arrived at our room, he threw the doors open and announced, "The Presidential Suite, Mr. Masen."

Edward took me by the hand and led me in as a bellhop appeared out of nowhere with our luggage. I was shocked by the sheer size of the suite and listened in rapt attention as we were told about the rooms—there was a television in the bathroom and a Jacuzzi on the private terrace—but Edward just seemed impatient.

While we were looking at the master bedroom, it appeared Edward had enough. He let go of my hand and reached in his pocket, pulling out a ridiculous wad of cash. He peeled off two hundred dollars and handed it to the concierge. "We'll figure out how to use the bed, thanks."

I giggled and the concierge took the money and said, "Very good, sir." He didn't even crack a smile. I must have been right about the help being used to the eccentricities of wealthy people.

The concierge and bell hop exited quickly, leaving Edward and I alone. He turned to me, scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. I giggled as he carried me to the bedroom and dropped me on the bed. He swallowed my giggle with a kiss as his body lay on top of mine. "Three months is long enough to wait. I'm out of patience," he said, his lips trailing down my neck and his hands unbuttoning my shirt.

"It was a long flight. I don't think I'm in the mood," I said, trying to make my voice sound as serious as possible.

Which was apparently pretty serious since he stopped kissing my neck and looked up at me with the most ridiculously disappointed look on his face. "Oh, sorry," he said. He took a deep breath and rolled off of me. "We can check out the hotel if you want to. Or are you hungry? I can see if–"

I cut him off when I straddled his hips and kissed him on the mouth, my hands tight in his hair. He groaned after his initial surprise, grabbing my hips tightly and returning my kiss.

"As if I'd want to wait," I said between kisses. "I love that you were such a gentleman, though. Your mother would be proud."

"_Please_ don't talk about my mother while you're kissing me. Ever."

"Sorry," I said as he and I made quick work of his clothes, leaving him in his boxers. He looked so beautiful lying there, his hair a mess from me putting my hands in it, his cheeks a little pink, his chest moving up and down noticeably from exertion.

"You didn't have to drag me half way around the world in order to get me to go to bed with you, you know."

"True, but me sweeping you off your feet and to Europe is much more romantic, isn't it?"

"Eh, a six pack and a slap on the ass would have done just as well."

He laughed but looked a little disappointed and I immediately realized my mistake. "I'm sorry. This is the nicest, most romantic thing that's anyone has ever done for me."

Seemingly placated, he sat up and knelt on the side of the bed, put a hand on either side of my face, and kissed me softly. His hands traveled down and he deftly finished unbuttoning my blouse, gently moving it off my shoulders and making me shiver. His hands moved back up and unclasped my bra, placing it next to my shirt. Then he looked up at me and wrapped his lips around my nipple, making me gasp. The sensation shot straight through my body and rested right between my legs.

I threaded my hand through his hair, hoping to encourage him to continue. But he pulled away and pushed my shoulder so I was lying flat on the bed. I was confused and disappointed and I may or may not have whined like a three year old.

Edward chuckled and kissed my stomach, the light scruff on his face a startling contrast to the softness of his lips. "Patience," he said, "I'm trying to seduce you. I didn't do it right last time."

I put my hand back in his hair and lifted my head a little so I could see him. He was entirely serious. "There was nothing wrong with last time. It was amazing."

He kissed my stomach again and went to work on my pants, unbuttoning them and hooking his thumbs in the belt loops. "It _was _amazing. But you deserve more than that." He lowered my pants and then my underwear so I was completely naked.

Edward joined me on the bed, covering my body with his. He kissed me on the mouth, slowly and deeply, making my toes curl. His weight on top of me felt so good; he was warm and solid and real. We were finally together in the way I'd longed for us to be and I don't think I'd ever felt this good—heart, body, and mind.

"I want this to be good for you," he said, kissing my neck.

"Why wouldn't it be?" I asked, genuinely curious. If last time was any indication, I wouldn't be disappointed.

"I have about three months of pent-up sexual frustration. I'll probably last about twenty-eight seconds."

I laughed out loud at this unexpected admission and he chuckled into my neck. "Don't worry," I said. "It'll be like Martin Quinn's basement all over again."

"Who's Martin Quinn? Give me his address so I can go beat him up for ever touching you."

I laughed again and rubbed his back. "This may come as a shock, but I'm not a virgin. Martin Quinn was my first. Though he may have lasted close to a minute, so he's got you beat."

"I won't let some punk kid last longer than me. Get me a stopwatch. I'm going for one minute, one tenth of a second."

My response was swallowed by a gasp as he wrapped his lips around my other nipple and sucked lightly. I grabbed his hair and moaned loudly, lifting my hips against him. "Not helping," he said, shifting his hips away from me.

"Edwardddd," I whined.

"Hush," he said, kissing a path down my chest and stomach to my thighs. "I need an insurance policy." He lifted one of my legs so my foot was flat on the bed and kissed me softly on the inside of my thighs.

Holy God, Edward was going there.

My breath hitched in anticipation. This wasn't a fantasy – this was _real._As soon as I felt his lips and tongue between my legs, I knew for sure I was in heaven. Every flick of his tongue made me want to die over and over again. Most men had no idea what to do down there, yet with Edward it was completely different. I moaned unashamedly as he continued to pleasure me. I arched my back from the blissful tension, eager for the high I hadn't reached in three months. It was the most liberating feeling when Edward got me there; I felt happy and free.

"That was unbelievable," I said breathlessly when we were face to face again. "I think that policy had good coverage."

"If you thought that was good, get ready for the best minute of your life," he said, taking off his boxers.

I giggled. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, his face taking on a more serious look. "You know that, right?"

"I know," I answered with a nod.

We didn't have to say anything else. Unlike the night of the disastrous museum benefit, I trusted him now. And he trusted me.

Edward placed his hands on either side of my face and kissed me gently. He entered me slowly, stretching me and making me hum from the intense pleasure.

"God, my memory doesn't do you justice," he said with a groan. "You feel amazing."

All I could do was whimper in response. I was more than a little overwhelmed. Edward pulled back a little before thrusting deeper, filling me completely. My brain was only functioning at half capacity, so much of it focused on one area of my body. I wasn't sure I could form coherent sentences if I wanted to. I figured I would wait for my vocabulary to reactivate, lest I open my mouth and sound like a porn star. This wasn't the set of _An American in an American in Ireland._This was me making love with my boyfriend.

"You okay?" he asked, looking down at me with some concern, his hands smoothing the hair away from my face.

"Mm-hm," I managed to say, raising my hips to coax him into moving again.

"Are you sure?"

"Very, very sure. Now please feel free to reward this sureness."

He chuckled, but the moment was still intense. "This is _all_ about you."

Edward Masen. My perfect imperfect man.

He took my hand and threaded our fingers together, rocking his hips slowly into mine. I closed my eyes and wrapped my legs around his hips, bringing him in deeper and moving with him. He groaned into my neck as we found our rhythm – a steady, satisfying pace. Each stroke made me yearn for more, however. I wanted to buck up against him with more urgency, to make him drive into me harder. Three months of self-imposed chastity was now being broken, I was more needy than ever.

"Oh God, Bella."

"More," I said hungrily, writhing beneath him. "Don't worry – you'll last."

He took the vote of confidence in stride, increasing his pace by a fraction. "You're so beautiful."

"And horny." It took me a few seconds to realize what I'd just said. "I mean, so are you."

"Beautiful or horny?" he asked, amused.

"Well, it's pretty obvious..."

I trailed off, sighing loudly as he started to put more weight behind his movements. He was giving me more without turning this into mindless fucking. It was exactly the type of confidence I liked. Not the arrogant "leave it all to me because I'm King of the Trojans." type attitude, and not the "this is the only way I've done it, so it's all you're going to get" conviction either. Edward knew this was special; he made me feel worshipped.

Grateful for his efforts, I put my hand in his hair and pulled his face level with mine. We'd spent months dancing around each other, becoming tentative friends and then almost blowing it completely. He'd broken my heart yet here we were, on a trip we'd joked about taking the first time we met. Making love, however, was much more enjoyable than Travel Monopoly and fist-fights with leprechauns. Thank God things had changed. Otherwise I'd be sulking in the corner, wondering who was going to put the amazing into my _Amazing Race: Europe_._  
_  
"I love you," I said, letting go of his hand so both of my hands were in his hair. "Tell me you love me again." I knew he did, I just needed to hear it here and now, while we were as close as two people could be.

He stopped moving and searched my face before kissing me softly. "I love you."

My heart fluttered in my chest – I was never going to tire of him saying that.

Edward then decided it was time to bring me to my second orgasm of the day. I clutched onto his back as he began to pound into me. It was so unbelievably good my eyes rolled back into my head. I began to chant his name reverently, encouraging him and letting him know exactly how good he was making me feel.

"Edward. Oh God. I'm so glad I reprimanded you," I said as I threw my head back.

"Reprimand?" he asked huskily. "Are things about to get kinky?"

"I'm talking about your internet usage, Mr. Masen." I started to laugh but it turned into a loud groan when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Oh _that."_

The familiar tightening sensation was beginning to take hold. I started to quiver around him as I desperately sought my release.

"Harder, Ms. Swan?" he asked, smirking.

"Yes. So close..."

Edward lifted his hips, changing his angle. The adjustment was all I needed. With his length now rubbing against the right spot, the coiled tension finally exploded. I lost all control, convulsing beneath him in pure bliss. I yelled Edward's name and other, likely incoherent, things. Whatever I said, it was clear I thought he was some sort of god. I rode out the waves of pleasure in a haze of lust and love.

The next thing I was aware of was Edward's face buried in my neck as he let out a strangled cry. He collapsed on top of me, apparently as sated as I was.

"Ireland is fun," I said breathlessly.

Edward chuckled. "Yes, it is."

We took a few moments to regain our breath. I was wearing what was probably a very goofy grin on my face and was already wondering when we could do it again. I didn't need Seth to tell me when Edward's schedule was open – I _was _the schedule. It was all Bella, all the time.

"You have another appointment with me in fifteen minutes," I said after awhile. "Don't be late. I like to come on time."

"Fifteen minutes? I'm thirty-five, Bella, not twenty-six like you. I need some down time. And by that I don't mean _going down_time. I mean actual rest. This is hard work, you know. Not that it's hard to get hard, especially when it comes to you. It's just that–"

"Twenty-seven," I corrected, interrupting his rambling.

"Twenty-seven minutes? That's a very specific number," he replied, kissing my neck. "What formula did you use?"

"No, silly. _I'm _twenty-seven."

He looked confused for a split second before he–and I–realized what just happened. "What? When was your birthday?" he asked, his voice a combination of sad and annoyed.

"September thirteenth," I admitted.

I could see him calculating the date and our relationship in his head. "So before we went to the Frick?"

I nodded.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"It's kind of an awkward thing to bring up. 'Hey, friend, my birthday is in a few days. Please buy me a balloon and a birthday card that sings.'" I rolled my eyes and smiled, hoping to take that look off of his face.

"I would have given you a lot more than that," he protested.

"Well, you can give it to me now," I said suggestively, pushing him flat on his back and putting my knees on either side of his hips.

He smiled up at me and grabbed my hips. "Old man, remember?"

"I can work with that, Mr. Masen," I said, kissing his chest and working my way down.

And work with it we did, two more times before dinner.

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 10:31 AM**  
**Subject: Just Thought I'd Let You Know**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I had fun last night. Multiple times.

Isabella Swan  
Very satisfied  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:01 AM**  
**Subject: Exceeding Expectations**

Dear Ms. Swan,

While I'm happy to hear that I exceeded your expectations, I'm curious to know when you had time to send this email, and where from. After all, I haven't wanted to let you out of my sight.

Edward Masen  
Pleasantly Confused  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:41 AM**  
**Subject: Nothing Money Can't Buy**

Dear Mr. Masen,

You booked us into this hotel. Surely you realize when you're in the presidential suite, there's nothing they won't do for you. There's a business center which I was kindly permitted to use. You should have heard what they offered to do for me while I was sending that email as you showered this morning. Don't worry, I turned them down. My boyfriend has skills.

Isabella Swan  
Taking Advantage  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:45 AM**  
**Subject: An Offer You Can Refuse**

Dear Ms. Swan,

I am happy to know that the staff at this hotel are attentive and friendly. However, I am concerned about these 'offers' that were thrown your way. I am skilled in many areas and I would like to know what kind of services were made available to you. That way I will know not to disappoint you should you need such assistance again.

Edward Masen  
Skilled Professional  
Cullen, Inc (though on holiday in Ireland)

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:48 AM**  
**Subject: Well-Rounded**

Dear Mr. Masen,

Rest assured, in all of my experience with you (which admittedly is limited at this point), I have never been disappointed. Why, just last week you helped me find a way to resolve a conflict at my workplace. It worked like a charm. Then there were the four orgasms you gave me last night. You satisfy me in every way, Mr. Masen. I have no need to seek anything from the friendly and helpful individuals at this hotel.

Isabella Swan  
Not pursuing any other options  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:50 AM**  
**Subject: Return to Sender**

Dear Ms. Swan,

Please return to me once you have read this email. I believe you are owed a fifth experience.

Edward Masen  
Pursuing one particular option  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 11:50 AM**  
**Subject: No Time For Something Clever**

Dear Mr. Masen,

*dustcloud*

Bella  
Hoping I don't break anything in my haste to get to you  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Edward  
To: Bella  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 7:31 PM**  
**Subject: Lather, Rinse, Repeat**

Dear Bella,

Thank you for returning to me with such haste. I was very happy to see you. And to be in bed with you. Now if you'd just stop running away when I'm in the shower, I might have time to tell you (again) that I love you.

Edward  
Not willing to wait  
Ireland

* * *

**From: Bella  
To: Edward  
Date: Thurs, December 23, 2010 at 7:32 PM**  
**Subject: Never Again**

Dear Mr. Masen,

I won't be running away anymore, I promise.

I love you.

Isabella Swan  
Staying Put  
Ireland/New York City/Wherever you are

* * *

**The End**

**Please pardon (but read) the epically long a/n.  
**

jennde: So. That was a fun year.

bel: was it? I've run out of jokes. I don't think I can write anything funny ever again.

j: That's okay, I've never written anything funny so we'll be on equal footing.

b: I suppose we are the same height...anyway, we should thank everyone for being awesome and reading our random story.

j: Thanks, everyone, for reading this random story that started out with a bunch of goofy emails we never intended to share with anyone. You're all amazing.

b: Super amazing. So amazing that you should all pat yourselves on the back and then high five each other. And then repeat. It'll be like the new Macarena.

j: We should give special thanks to the reviewers. 'Cause you know, not everyone does and it's nice that people take the time to let us know what they're thinking. Even when they tell us they think we suck.

b: I tend not to care for people who think we suck. But other reviewers = awesome.

j: Hey, remember when we were playing around with this and thinking of maybe possibly turning it into a story, and we sent it to a certain someone? And that certain someone said it was good and could definitely be a full-fledged story?

b: You mean, SR? The guy who betas our shit?

j: The very one. SR is pretty much a kick-ass beta.

b: He kicks so much ass he is a danger to Canadian society.

j: I think there's some sort of anti-SR ordinance in Canada. Though you probably shouldn't quote me on that.

b: We should also thank Lucette212 and arfalcon. They also kick ass for all the pre-reading they did.

j: They were outstanding. Without the three of them, I'm pretty sure this would have sucked.

b: So, do you think we'll ever write more DMM?

j: I don't know if you've heard, but Nina wants to do FGB again in November. I think we can manage to squeak something out for that, don't you?

b: *checks schedule* yes, charity rocks.

j: What about another multi-chapter collaboration?

b: Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. We'll see.

j: Maybe people should put us on author alert just in case. We make no promises, that way no one is disappointed.

b: I dislike disappointment.

j: You know what I've never been disappointed in? Writing with you.

b: Likewise, partner. *tips hat* *wonders why I'm wearing a hat indoors* Anyway, we should wrap this up.

j: Yeah, we've been boring long enough. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, rec'd, tweeted, and blogged about DMM. All press is good press as 'they' say.

b: Yes. Thank you and good night


	25. FGB Outtake

To celebrate Valentine's Day, we thought we'd share the outtake we wrote for Fandom Gives Back. Thank you again to everyone who participated in and donated to FGB. And who knows... maybe there will be another outtake after this. Much love, Jen and Bel.

Betad by the brilliant **arfalcon**.

* * *

_**Edward**_

During the course of my adult life, I had come to see Christmas as more of an annoyance than a celebration. This was primarily because Christmas did not mean _business as usual_. For a start, it meant half my colleagues disappeared (some went on vacation, while others presumably dematerialized and never returned), which always resulted in a heavier workload for yours truly. It also meant drunken women throwing themselves at me at the company Christmas party, which at Cullen, Inc. came with the bonus of me being voted Hottest EILF (Executive I'd Like to...you know...do things to.) People hummed carols during meetings, drank non-alcoholic eggnog at lunch, wrapped things in tinsel. I had to send cards to people I spoke to once every blue moon, and accept candy canes from people who I saw once every full moon (because as a were-elf, that's when I deigned to leave my office). All this when I just wanted to get some work done.

And before I met Bella, Christmas also meant an increased number of phone calls from my mother, who with each passing year became more and more afraid I'd spend the holiday in front of the fireplace, consuming milk and cookies while I waited for Santa to bring me a wife. I'd reminded her on many an occasion that my apartment didn't even have a fireplace, and even if I did, I was generally opposed to wives being carried around in Santa's sack while he traversed the world in his sleigh. Needless to say, my mother never found these jokes funny. My default defenses of "I'm too busy working to find a wife" and "money doesn't grow on trees; I have to actually earn it myself" were always met with derision. Two years ago, she even reminded me that wives didn't grow on trees either, to which I replied, "I certainly hope not. That sounds like the most ridiculous Christmas tree ever." She started crying and sent me a box of red and green macaroons from Paris. Since I wasn't sure whether she wanted me to eat them, give them to a prospective girlfriend, or leave them out for Santa on Christmas Eve, I gave them to Seth. It was but a small consolation for the number of calls he'd had to field.

So imagine my relief when last year my mother left me alone. I'd told her I was taking my girlfriend to Ireland, and that for the first time in many years I was actually taking more than two weeks vacation. She'd been so stunned she'd left my father in charge of gift-giving. I received a cuckoo clock maintenance kit (as they didn't know Bella had broken my birthday gift), several bottles of red wine, and a surprisingly sensible cashmere sweater. It was safe to say I spent the majority of that Ireland trip in various states of undress, but when I wasn't having amazing sex with Bella, or streaking through fields of leprechaun gold, I appreciated that sweater very much. Perhaps if I stunned my mother again this year, I'd receive something equally useful.

That was wishful thinking, however. A year had passed and my mother was no longer stunned into submission. It was the beginning of December and she was at it again, calling the office once a day. To make matters worse, as of yesterday evening my parents were actually back in New York. Admittedly, I had requested that my mother deliver a certain item to me, but being back in the same time zone had its disadvantages. Despite the fact I'd spoken to her for over an hour last night, she had called the office _three _times today, _twice_in the last hour. And today was a Saturday; I wasn't even supposed to be working.

I was more than a little bit on edge today. I was letting Bella down by working on a weekend, on a day we were supposed to spend together. We'd planned to shop for ornaments before decorating the tree and then hopefully making love by said tree. As much as Christmas annoyed me in the past, Christmas with Bella was different. This cancellation hurt more than the usual rescheduling – she'd spent many a holiday season alone. I had to finish this work and get out of here.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Seth was sitting opposite me, helping me sort through an important stack of paperwork, and he was visibly tired too.

"I want to go home and decorate the Christmas tree," I whined. As CEO, I was allowed to set policy on whining in the workplace. I didn't usually allow myself to indulge, but I was cranky about being a disappointment.

Seth passed me a folder and nodded solemnly. "I know, sir."

"This is going to be the first Christmas I'll have a tree in my apartment, you know," I explained. "I _have _to get home."

He looked confused. "Didn't you have one a couple of years ago?

I shook my head. "That wasn't of my own free will. That tree forced itself on me. I tried to say stop but it wouldn't listen. Santa probably told it I was a bad boy, a single one with wood to spare." I paused. "If I don't get out here, I'll be making inappropriate jokes all night. How about we shred this paperwork and run away? Yes?"

"Hold on a minute, sir," Seth replied, obviously amused. "That's an interesting recollection. Wasn't that the year your mother broke into your apartment and set up a tree while you were at work? Maybe I misunderstood you?"

"You probably did. Wasn't that the year you wore reindeer ears during December?"

"I never did that."

I smirked. "I knew you'd come to deny it."

"Wasn't that the tree that scared you?"

He was making it sound like I was afraid of Christmas decorations. What had actually happened was I'd been unaware that the tree's Christmas lights were on an automatic timer. I hadn't noticed it previously, as I hardly frequented the living room when I was busy with paperwork. One night I woke up in need of a midnight snack. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, I walked down the hall, saw the alarming sight of a hundred floating lights, and ended up walking into a magazine rack due to the shock. I thought I'd hallucinated a swarm of fairies. That is, until I remembered the damn tree.

"I don't like unannounced trees, fairies, or any other type of Christmas surprise," I answered with dignity.

Before Seth could reply, his desk phone began to ring. I glanced in the direction of the doorway and groaned. I was too far away to unplug the phone line.

"That has to be your mother."

I slapped the folder down on the desk. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. We're going to go home. I'm going to come in tomorrow. On a Sunday. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but if you do, be ready to make me lots of coffee. I might even have to come in early on Monday. This is taking so much longer than expected."

"If you're sure, sir."

"I am."

"Okay then. I'll call your driver to pick you up."

We walked out of the office without looking back. Had I looked back, I would've had a panic attack at the small mountain of paperwork on my desk. I had no time for panic attacks. I had to get to Bella.

When I checked my cell on the drive uptown, I noticed I had five missed calls from my mother. I'd told her last night that she and Dad would meet Bella soon, suggesting dinner at Per Se next Friday night. Instinct told me she wanted to move the dinner up. However, I wasn't about to let her bully me. I wasn't just any kid on the playground. I was a CEO. A CEO with a personal assistant who helped him dodge his mother's incessant phone calls.

As soon as the elevator doors opened at my floor, I bolted down the hall toward my apartment. I would've run much faster had I not had the weight of my winter coat and my briefcase slowing me down. In my haste, I actually knocked on my own door, eager for Bella to open up. Then I remembered it was my apartment and I obviously had a key. I retrieved my keys and let myself in, immediately searching for Bella. I found her in the living room wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts and... thigh high red and white striped socks. She cocked her head to the side and waited for me to say something. Well, that's what I think she did; I was more than a little distracted.

_Whoa._

I dropped my briefcase with a thud. Apparently, some Christmas surprises weren't so bad after all.

"Is this your way of torturing me?" I asked as I took off my coat and draped it over the sofa.

"Yes," she said. "Is it working?"

"I dare say it is," I replied with a grin.

"Good."

I unbuttoned my collar and loosened my tie. "So if I threw you down in front of that tree and made you scream my name, would that make up for my absence today?"

"It would be a start."

The playfulness of her voice told me that despite today's cancellation, I wasn't without a chance of redemption. I stalked over to her, very much wanting to close the distance between us, but she put a hand up to stop me. I briefly thought of tackling her anyway and having my way with her, but decided to follow her lead.

"But not starting now?" I asked, stopping in my tracks.

Her tone was very matter-of-fact. "We're decorating this tree, Mr. Masen. Then – and only then – may you service me properly."

I smirked and took her in my arms, kissing her quickly on the mouth. "I love you. I'm so sorry about today."

"I know you are, and I know you're doing the best you can."

Her words were a comfort to me. I kissed her forehead this time. "I can do better. I really am sorry. "

"You will be."

"Is more torture on the way? Will you be walking around naked while eating chicken pot pie next? I'll have you know that's cruel and unusual punishment."

"Worse than that. You have to put the lights on the tree."

"You know those lights frighten me," I joked, burying my head in her neck.

She chuckled. "Man up, Masen."

"I'll have to if I want to keep you around." I sighed happily. It was such a relief to be home. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"You were evil in a past life and now you're paying the price."

I laughed. "The Karmic Price Index. Especially brutal in this economy."

"The one percent has to pay somehow."

"Well then, I better put those lights up before you ditch me and decide to Occupy Wall Street instead."

I dashed off to my bedroom to change out of my suit. While my Columbia t-shirt and sweatpants weren't as sexy as Bella's outfit, I hoped she would still find me attractive. I'd been so rushed the last two mornings that I hadn't shaved – this amount of scruff probably ruled me out of the running for a Gillette endorsement. Maybe I was getting sloppy. Maybe I wouldn't even be able to defend my EILF title at next Saturday's Christmas party.

I was probably just being paranoid. I quickly returned to the living room to tackle the task of stringing the lights.

Bella had opened a bottle of wine and I sipped from my glass as I surveyed the tree, mentally forming a game plan for stringing the lights. The tree we'd bought earlier in the week was the perfect size for the space and added a rather pleasant smell to the apartment. I wasn't even sure how much I'd paid for it, I just wanted the best for Bella. I wanted the holidays to mean something again, for both of us. So while she opened boxes of baubles, I did my very best to string the lights as perfectly as possible.

However – and I suspected this was deliberate – Bella distracted me quite a few times by bending over, giving me the slightest hint of the red underwear she was wearing.

"You shouldn't do that to a man when he's working with electricity," I said after the third time. "I might be electrocuted, and then where would you be?"

"Right back where I started, I'd imagine. But could you leave me your apartment? I'm kind of used to all this space now."

"Speaking of which," I said, peeking around the tree. "When are you going to give up your apartment?"

She never did like talking about her apartment. Even though she was only there a few times a month, she seemed reluctant to give it up. So I was hardly surprised when she changed the subject without giving a proper answer.

"You know, Ireland is going to be a tough act to follow. How are you going to top last Christmas?"

I gave her a knowing look, but played along nonetheless. "You're right, I'm sure there's no way I can top that," I said with a smile. "Be prepared for disappointment."

"Oh, Mr. Masen. Don't you know I'm always prepared for disappointment where you're concerned?"

"That's it," I said, coming around from the back of the tree and leaving the string of lights hanging off. "I won't have my sexual prowess impugned."

"You're so sexy when you use obscure words," she said as I took her in my arms and kissed her, my hands stroking her back under her shirt. Or rather, my shirt.

Come to think of it, the shirt had been a Christmas gift from my mother. It was a white Ralph Lauren double-ply cotton Oxford shirt with a button down collar and red embroidered horse, limited edition. I knew the specifics because she'd repeated the description ten times, all with different levels of emphasis. _Double-ply. Oxford. Limited Edition_. _Red horse. Button down. Ralph Lauren. Ralph. Lauren._The way she kept repeating herself made me think she was trying to hypnotize me into wearing it every day until I died, or at least until the collar needed to be re-starched. Needless to say, this wasn't the way she'd envisioned it being worn, but at least it was being put to good use.

_Very_good use. It was essentially gift wrap now. Bella was such a turn on.

"I have many obscure words in my vocabulary," I teased. "Blame the SAT. Here's an analogy: my hand is up your shirt like something else will be up something else..."

She giggled.

"Hush. I have something to prove," I said. I grabbed her ass and pulled her against me, my erection pressing into her and making her gasp. I slowly started unbuttoning her shirt, one button at a time. It was a tease for both of us.

I had just slipped the shirt from her shoulders, revealing an incredibly sexy red lace bra, when the phone that linked directly to the lobby rang. The shrill sound was such an unwelcome interruption I may or may not have cursed several times.

"Are we expecting someone?" I asked as I tried to remember if I'd forgotten something.

"Not that I know of. Maybe it's a package?"

"It's Saturday night in New York City. The only package people _might _find welcome is Justin Timberlake's dick-in-a-box skit from _SNL_." I suddenly realized something as the phone continued to ring. "Oh my God! I didn't even close the door when I came in."

"What?"

I'd been so eager to see Bella I'd just raced in without a second thought. I released Bella, jogged to the foyer, shut the apartment door, and then picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Masen, it's James from downstairs. Your parents are here to see you."

"Sorry?" I couldn't have heard right. They hadn't even given me any notice.

Though my mother _had _tried to call me.

"Your parents – Elizabeth and Edward Senior – are here to see you," James repeated patiently. He was used to this sort of thing, I surmised. Rich people had skeletons in their closets, so he had to be on guard when someone showed up unannounced. Sometimes skeletons were hard to hide on short notice.

Bella wasn't a skeleton. My parents obviously knew about her. But she was wearing an inappropriate outfit and I had been in the middle of fixing that until I was so rudely interrupted.

"Mr. Masen, are you there?"

"Yes, James. Sorry." I paused again to think. "Please send them up."

"Will do, sir."

I hung up immediately and whipped around. Bella had followed me and was waiting for an explanation.

"You might want to change. Like, immediately. My parents are here."

She went wide-eyed and before I knew it, she'd disappeared. To the bedroom, presumably. I was sure some women would want to spontaneously combust in these circumstances, but Bella wasn't like that. Not anymore, anyway

I so very badly wanted to be angry with my parents. Sure, mother had tried to call me, but since I hadn't actually gotten back to her, decorum dictated that it was rude to show up unannounced. Multiple missed phone calls was not an announcement. If it were, society would have a problem on its hands, one it couldn't ignore. Because if you tried to ignore it, it still counted as announced.

I ran a hand through my hair and paced around the foyer. The apartment was clean enough, and we had food in the fridge, but I still felt unprepared for visitors. The only small mercy was that my parents hadn't bribed James; if they'd been let up, they would've walked straight in, caught me in a compromising position with my girlfriend, and then lectured me on the dangers of leaving my door open.

Bella came racing back into the foyer. She was flustered, but was now wearing a sensible skirt and top.

"Oh, am I overdressed?" she asked. "Maybe you should change back into your suit. Don't you think you're under-dressed?"

"I'm not dressing up for people who invited themselves over," I explained. "I'm so sorry about this. I really am."

I moved to give her a reassuring kiss on the lips, but she busied herself with the task of fixing her hair.

"You look great," I told her.

"What happened to Friday night dinner?"

The knock on the door came sooner than expected. Or perhaps I had lost all track of time, what with the shock and everything.

"_Edward_, it's _your _parents," my mother trilled from the other side of the door.

"Well, who else's parents would you be?" I replied as I opened the door. Her emphasis on things really didn't make sense sometimes.

My mother and father didn't respond to my irritation. The sight of Bella behind me in the foyer was enough to distract them.

"Oh, how _wonderful_! Your Bella is _here_!" my mother exclaimed, pushing past me so she could kiss Bella on both cheeks.

"Good evening to you too, Mother."

My father seemed to be a little embarrassed, giving me the_ I-tried-to-stop-this _look. He stepped forward and clapped me on the shoulder. "Maybe next time you should answer your phone."

"Yeah. Or maybe I should have vacationed in Ireland again."

"Too late to fly out now, boy," he said jovially before turning his attention to Bella and extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, dear."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Bella said.

My father smiled at Bella, then smiled at my mother, who then smiled at Bella, who then looked at me. I forced a smile at my mother, who then cocked an eyebrow and smiled smugly at me before smiling at my father. While I had heard that smiling was contagious, this was more awkward than anything. I felt like we were trapped in a Colgate commercial, bound to show our toothy grins to an invisible audience over and over until someone pulled the plug. In the end, I grinned encouragingly at Bella and then led everyone out of the foyer. For a split-second, I thought I heard the audience murmur their approval, but it was just my mother tutting one of the paintings in the hall.

"Too _abstract_, Edward. It's _ugly_ too. So_ brown_," she complained, stopping in her tracks. "MoMA called: they want their _doormat _back."

"Well, they can't have it," I replied. "I need to wipe my shoes on _something_."

"I think it's funky," Bella said in my defense.

"Me too," my father added, nodding at her.

My mother rolled her eyes. I immediately wished we were already in the kitchen. People complained less when they had food in their mouths.

Before we reached the kitchen, however, she strode straight into the living room. She stood in the center of the space, surveying the tree for a few moments before walking up to it and eying the floor in suspicion. The rest of us watched on. I briefly wondered whether she was going to criticize the lack of gifts under the half-decorated tree, but then I realized what the _present_ problem actually was.

"Really, Edward. I didn't _give_ you this shirt so you could use it as a _mop_," my mother said, looking down at the shirt I'd so slowly taken off of Bella just moments before. A moment I would have preferred to stay in rather than having to deal with the sudden appearance of my parents.

"That's my fault," Bella said, scurrying over and picking up the shirt from the floor and hiding it behind her back. As if that would somehow make it disappear.

"I'm _sure_ it's not, dear. You're not his housemaid, after all. This isn't the _nineteen forties_. And he can certainly _afford_ a maid to come and clean up his mess." She turned to me with a rather reproachful look on her face.

"Drink, Mother?" I asked. Bella was starting to look anxious, so I thought diverting the conversation away from the shirt was wise.

"Yes, darling. Whatever you have open is fine," she said, waving at the open wine bottle and glasses that were currently on my coffee table.

"Dad?"

"I'll have whatever your mother is having."

I nodded and walked over to Bella. "You're doing great," I whispered in her ear.

She smiled tightly at me and held up the shirt, gesturing to the general vicinity of our bedroom. "I'm just gonna go..."

I gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her elbow. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she said to my parents before taking off down the hall.

I started toward the kitchen to get wine glasses for my parents, and my mother followed me. So much for a moment to gather my thoughts.

"_Why_ are you having that _nice_ girl clean up after you? I raised you better than that. And the sweatpants. _Honestly_, Edward."

"I don't make her—forget it. I planned on dressing properly for dinner on Friday."

"You're the one who wanted _this_," she said, rooting around in her purse and handing me a small black velvet box. "Why not buy that lovely girl a _proper_ ring? We have an _account_at Harry Winston, you know."

"Bella's not the Harry Winston type. Grandma Lillian's ring is perfect, trust me," I said, opening the box and admiring the small but flawless and perfectly set diamond my grandmother wore for years.

"Every woman likes _diamonds_, whether they admit it or not."

I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She was certainly annoying at times, but all in all, she'd come through for me. "Thank you for bringing this, Mom. And believe me, Bella will appreciate this much more than anything I could buy her, no matter how big or expensive."

"Well, you know what _they_ say. Size _does _matter," she said with a smile and a wink.

I groaned and tugged at my hair. "Please, Mother."

"Oh, _don't_ be so sensitive."

I put the ring in my pocket, took two glasses from the cabinet, and walked back to the living room with my mother.

The week following the surprise visit was a whirlwind. It got to the point where there was so much paperwork on my desk that if Seth and I were to somehow shake the office, we'd effectively end up with a snow globe of my working environment. Despite the snowstorm of reports, however, I did manage to have lunch at _Midtown Grill_ on three occasions. An extra sight of Bella during my day was enough to help me plow on. She did point out mid-week that my visits meant I benefited from her cooking even more than usual, a fact she seemed quite pleased about. After I finished drooling over my lunch, I assured her that her cooking amounted to torture in some respect, as it only made me want more, like a can of Pringles. _Once you pop, you can't stop!_

I was now banned from using snack food analogies. Her cooking did not amount to anything so readily packaged in a can, unless that can was a "can of whoop-ass." (I learned this term from Seth, who was also responsible for any_ SNL_ analogies or other references I would normally not know about.) The same level of respect could also be attributed to the cuisine at Per Se, where we had dinner with my parents last night. Bella – who had been understandably nervous last week in their presence – was more confident this time. Even my mother was in awe of her culinary expertise, eventually deferring to her when each dish from the Prix Fixe menu was brought out.

At one stage, when Bella left to go to the bathroom, my father kicked me under the table and asked when I was going to "pop the question." After purging the tag-line of _Once you pop, you can't stop!_from my head, I asked him why he'd felt the need to kick me when I was already paying attention to him. He claimed he was overexcited. I then revealed I was planning something fantastic. My mother looked at me expectantly, as if she expected an invite to the proposal, but I averted my gaze and pretended to be fascinated with my soup spoon. My father took it upon himself to tell her that I'd always been a bit shy about women, so to leave me alone. Either that, he said, or I was planning to learn how to bend spoons with my mind.

As usual, I was relieved when Bella returned. Everything was better when she was around. And it was this simple fact that I hoped would get me through tonight's company Christmas party.

"You look stunning," I told her for the fifth time as I helped her out of the limo.

"You said that already," she said with a smirk.

"Really? Forgive my short-term memory loss. Looks like I'll be saying it all night."

We walked up the steps of The Plaza, arm in arm, and were promptly greeted in the foyer by a harried looking Seth.

His manners were thankfully still intact despite the stress. "You look very pretty, Ms. Swan," he said, nodding at her.

"Thank you, Seth. You look very handsome yourself."

"Thanks." He turned to me and cleared his throat. "Let's get going. You're behind schedule, Mr. Masen."

"Yes, I did receive your texts," I replied patiently as Bella and I followed him. "You know, I really do like the new iPhone. I asked Siri if she could take over for a week so you could take an early vacation. Unfortunately, she said no, but I think if I ask her again tomorrow she might budge. Maybe we should get her drunk tonight."

Seth shook his head. "If you douse your phone with alcohol...I don't know what I'll do."

"Are you okay?" Bella asked him.

Seth then revealed what had gone down in my absence. "The Art Department girls are already drunk. And I mean _really_ drunk. I'm two hundred percent sure they're responsible for the random patches of vomit near the women's bathroom. One of them has her dress on backwards! What else...Someone is going around with the sole intention of taking unflattering pictures of everyone. People are taking bets on EILF runner-up, because we all know who has the overall title on lock. And there was almost a fistfight between two people from Admin, all because someone messed up the Secret Santa draw."

I sighed as we turned the corner. I could already hear the sounds of the festivities. "Christmas. It's all very annoying, isn't it?"

Bella coughed.

"When you're not with a beautiful, intelligent woman, I mean."

Bella looked appeased. "Where's Heidi?" she asked Seth.

Surprisingly, Seth looked a little uncomfortable. I wasn't sure why – he and Heidi had been an item for over six months. My relaxing of the non-fraternization policy earlier this year had paved the way; employees now had to declare relationships and sign contracts acknowledging their responsibilities to the company, lest there be any trouble.

We got our answer when we walked into the Terrace Room. Heidi was waiting at the entrance, hands on hips and an unimpressed look on her face.

"Where have you been?" she demanded to know.

Seth was now uneasy _and _annoyed. "Where do you think?" he said, nodding his head in my direction.

"You know how demanding a CEO can be," I said smoothly.

"He's very demanding," Bella added. "Super demanding, even."

"I even demand that I be more demanding." I turned to Seth. "If that's possible, of course."

"I, uh, don't think it is," he said, wisely going over to Heidi and taking her hand. "Heidi, why don't you and I get a drink? Mr. Masen has to do the rounds. Starting with Mr. Cullen."

"Ah, Carlisle is here already."

"He likes to be on time," Heidi said, refusing to be ushered away. She leveled a harsh look at Seth. "I just spoke to him. I wanted to introduce him to my boyfriend, but he was AWOL."

"But Seth has obviously met Carlisle before," I pointed out.

"Not in _this_ capacity," she answered.

Seth gave me an apologetic look before leading her away. "Let's go."

Feeling lost, I looked to Bella for an explanation. "I don't get it. What capacity? The capacity to wear a tuxedo?"

She planted a quick kiss on my lips before adjusting my bow tie. "Are you _demanding _a translation?"

"I might be. What will the cost be?"

"Just put down fifty dollars on me to win Most Desirable EEILF. That's E-E-I-L-F. The odds should be good. I've got my old pals in IT rooting for me."

My head was beginning to hurt, and I hadn't even started drinking yet. "I'm sorry, I'm even more confused."

"Ex-Employee That I'd Like to...you know," she said with a cheeky grin.

"That can't be real."

She grinned mischievously. "How do you know it's not real? Did you not hear Seth? This is a company full of debauchery: drunkards; gambling; threats of violence. I'm glad I got out when I did."

I laughed. "Let's enter the den of sin then. Carlisle and Esme are probably waiting for us."

The problem with being fashionably late was everyone was bound to notice when you did arrive. Then again, I was the CEO, so perhaps the attention came with the territory. Heads turned, conversations halted, other whispers started up. I made a mental note to arrange a distraction for next year's party. Perhaps a marching band, or maybe just the smoke bombs ninjas used to hide their movements. If I went with the latter, I could also steal people's drinks.

"Wow, everyone is staring," Bella said.

"Oh, I told them to do that. Sent a company wide email. I'm very vain, you see."

I nodded at the employees closest to me, who raised their drinks in return.

"My first Cullen, Inc. Christmas party," Bella mused.

"Music, drinks, people dressed to the nines. Can't be half bad." I spotted Carlisle and Esme to our right. They indicated for us to come on over, so Bella and I made our way through the crowd, with me trying to acknowledge as many people as I could along the way.

It must have been strange for Carlisle, attending a function like this. It was the first Christmas party to be held after his departure. Throughout the year, he had continued to encourage me, helping me with the transition and making sure I didn't run his pride and joy into the ground. He was still my mentor in many ways, but this was a new era.

He immediately clapped me on the shoulder. "Good party," he said happily. "Nice of you to show up."

"I do what I can," I replied before kissing Esme on the cheek.

"You again," she said.

I laughed and then watched her and Bella embrace.

"Bella, nice to see you," Carlisle said politely when the women broke their hug.

Bella kept things in the Christmas spirit. "Good to see you too."

I doubted things between them would ever be fully peachy, but at least this was civil. Civil was so much better than hostile.

Bella and Esme made things easier by immediately forming their own conversation.

"So, how are you?" I asked him.

"Still retired. So don't try and palm off any work on me. Though I am glad you got the Manchester deal sorted."

I took his approval in stride. "That makes two of us."

"The only two who count." He took a swig of his wine. "Seriously, though. They shouldn't have pulled that shit last week. Who do they think they are?"

"It's under control. That's what matters," I assured him.

He glanced at Bella, who was laughing away with Esme, and lowered his voice. "I get that you want who you want, but I had the policy in place for a reason. I hope I don't ever have to say_ I told you so_. Business is business."

While I respected the fact that Cullen, Inc. was his baby, I made it clear I remained confident in my decision. "The policy change is a good thing."

Not surprisingly, he wasn't convinced. "My former assistant with your assistant. Even support staffers can cause problems, you know."

"I know what I'm doing."

If anything, Seth and Heidi were an example of two employees who worked better with the policy in place. Seth was more productive now that he didn't have to spend every thirty minutes dealing with Heidi's unnecessary emails and phone calls.

"I hope so," Carlisle replied.

"Hey, have you caught up with my folks yet? They're back in town."

"Yes, I know." He paused before offering me a rueful smile. "Look, I hope the _proposal_for that project goes well. I really do. You're a good man. I've always known that. You deserve to do well in those sorts of matters. Don't let my track record deter you."

"I appreciate your support," I replied. He really wasn't the best person to dispense such advice, but I wasn't about to pick that battle right now. I planned to let my relationship speak for itself.

I turned my attention to Bella, who was tugging on my sleeve.

"I think Seth is trying to get your attention," she said, nodding to my left.

Indeed he was, though he was being rather subtle about it. His tactic seemed to be one of _I'll stand here and stare in the direction of my boss until his girlfriend thinks it's weird_. Part of me wondered if I had ever used that ploy on Carlisle. The other part told me to go and see what Seth wanted instead of standing around thinking so much.

"I should go see what the problem is," I told Bella, Esme, and Carlisle. "Maybe Crowley wants to challenge me to a dance off."

"If you win, I'll give you a free lunch on Monday," Esme joked.

"Yes, we'll get one of the sous chefs to cook it," Bella chimed in. "Or maybe you can cook it yourself."

I pretended to limber up. "Well, I should warm up then."

Bella gave me a nudge. "Go on then. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, just go."

I kissed her on the cheek and left her for the time being. I looked back at one stage and saw that Carlisle decided to continue doing the rounds on his own. It was a small mercy, but I was thankful nonetheless. Even though she could hold her own, I didn't want Bella to have to endure a stilted conversation with him.

Plus, thanks to my blabbermouth parents, he knew I was going to propose. I wasn't sure his poker face was up to it, not when it came to the personal matters of other people.

With that situation under control, I made a beeline for Seth, who was looking increasingly anxious.

"What's going on?" I asked when I reached him.

He motioned for me to follow him. Thankfully, he just wanted to speak discreetly in a corner. For a second I thought I was about to get a guided tour of the Art Department's vomit exhibition.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," he said. "But I can't assist you properly until I get this other matter sorted. It's throwing me off my game."

"Well, tell me what the matter is."

He pulled a face, as if he were reconsidering the admission. But then he came right out with it. "Heidi keyed me right before the event."

"How exactly does one key another person?" I really was in need of a translator.

"She gave me a key to her apartment. I don't know what it means. Does she want me to move in with her? Is this serious? I don't want to move to the East Village – I much prefer Williamsburg." He certainly was flustered. "If you could dispense a quick word of advice, that would be excellent."

I considered his question carefully, relating his situation to my on relationship (it was something I could do now, which was very exciting on some basic level.) Bella had a key to _my _apartment, but the whole thing had come about rather naturally. I hadn't demanded she take it. Nor had I snuck it into her purse. It just made sense that she have a key, as she was always there. But on the other hand, she still insisted on retaining her apartment, even though she had no real need for it. It was a sub-let in Soho – it wasn't as if new tenants were going to be impossible to find.

A surge of panic made my stomach clench. And it had nothing to do with the complex nature of New York City's tenancy laws. It had everything to do with the heirloom ring I had hidden in my tax drawer (a sensible hiding place, as no one would bore themselves by snooping around there.) Was Bella as keen as I was when it came to the supreme commitment?

I told myself to stop being paranoid. I was confident she was. This matter was about Seth, not me.

"Where do you spend most of your time together?" I questioned.

"Well, it's kind of even. Though she hates commuting from my place," he answered.

"Hmmm."

I saw someone out of the corner of my eye and had a brainstorm. "Hey, Whitlock, come here for a sec, will you?" I called out, motioning him to come on over. He was good with this kind of stuff, and a good friend at that.

"What are you doing?" Seth whispered. "Are you firing me and sending me to Hades? I mean, _Marketing?_"

I shushed him and welcomed Jasper into the circle. Well, a circle previously of two.

"I love this song, don't you?" he said.

"Yes, yes, Jingle Bell Rock," I replied. "Listen, we need your advice. Seth's girlfriend keyed him."

Jasper was aghast. "She keyed your car? Why would she do that?"

Seth merely blinked at him before turning to me with a _why are you punishing me_ look on his face.

"No, she gave him a key," I explained.

"The key to his own car? That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it truly does not make sense," Seth said.

"Women think we don't understand them, but we do," Jasper advised, nodding wisely. "She's trying to tell you she's already driving your car. She's all in. Time to step up and tell her she's welcome to drive it. Except during rush hour in Manhattan – let's not waste gas now. I know it's your car, but still."

I nodded in support. "The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

Seth looked dumbfounded that the advice actually made some kind of sense. "Wow. She's all in."

Jasper continued. "Love is a beautiful thing. So is marriage, if you're thinking about it. My life is so much better with Alice in it."

The mention of marriage must have scared Seth off, because he suddenly declared he had to get back to work now that his head was clear.

"Out of curiosity, how did you propose to Alice?" I asked Jasper as Seth hurried away.

"With confidence, Mase." He nodded in Alice's direction – she was mingling with some of her dad's friends. "With confidence."

He was right, yet again. I had to trust how sure I was about Bella.

"So – "

He was distracted by a passing waiter. "Ooh, lobster puffs. Later, dude."

He left me standing by the wall like some kind of high-powered wallflower. It was a little like junior prom. However, I knew I wasn't really alone. While this was a company party, with employees I still needed to greet tonight, there was really only one person I wanted at my side.

Bella: my fiancée as of next week, and my wife for life.

_**Bella**_

Holidays were pretty casual while I was growing up, but we had certain traditions. Namely, we'd wake up early on Christmas morning, tear through our presents, gorge on banana pancakes, then spend the day in our pajamas watching movies and sorting through our newly acquired loot. Even when money was tight it was more about all of us spending the day together than what was (or wasn't) under the tree.

Last year, in Ireland with Edward, I was pretty sure we spent the holiday naked in bed. My memories of that trip were hazy at best, dominated by naked limbs, amazing sex, rich food, and more bottles of wine than I could count. The days kind of melded together.

Best Christmas Ever.

This year I had to have Riley fit me for a dress for Christmas Day dinner with Edward's parents. It all felt ridiculous, but I knew it meant a lot to Edward, so here I was at Bergdorf's at opening time on a Sunday morning.

We were going to spend Christmas Eve with Rose and Emmett for some balance. I was cooking, so maybe I'd make us real blue-collar food so I didn't forget my roots: franks and beans, tuna casserole, meatloaf, and deviled eggs. I'd have to have everyone sign a non-disclosure before they ate, though. I couldn't have Esme finding out about my foray into the depths of 'home-cooking'.

"What are you thinking?" I asked Riley as he stood behind me in front of the mirror. I'd learned to trust him completely over the past year–at least where dressing me was concerned. I didn't know if I'd ever be completely comfortable in Edward's world of charity events, working dinners, and nights at the Opera, but even if I was awkward and made a fool of myself, I always looked good while doing it.

"Maybe pants," he said, grabbing my hips and turning me slightly.

"What? Why? Is it because I gained a few pounds?"

"Did you?" he asked, squeezing my hips with a frown on his face.

"No!" I said, slapping his hand away. "Okay, maybe a little. It's all that restaurant food. And Edward's mother can be a bit much to take. It's stress eating." I put my hand over my mid-section self-consciously. I wondered if Edward noticed. Maybe that's why we hadn't had much sex in the last few weeks. I groaned.

"Is his mother that bad? Monster-in-Law material?" he asked, looking me over as he squeezed his lower lip between his fingers.

"No, not really," I said with a sigh. "She's actually been really nice to me." And she was. Though she sometimes looked at me with a knowing smile, as if she knew some secret I wasn't privy to, and it made me uncomfortable. Still, she was kind to me and it was obvious she adored Edward. So we had that in common.

I looked at myself in the mirror and groaned again. "I don't look right. How are you with computers? Can you Photoshop me?"

"Girl, you should see some of these women I dress. Either all plastic or all cellulite. Most of them are bitchy as all get out, too. You look fantastic." He smiled at me and looked me over one more time. "I'll be back," he said.

I sat with a sigh and closed my eyes. It had been a busy few weeks. The restaurant was packed every day with holiday parties and lunches, I had my own holiday plans to attend to (I had yet to find Edward a gift), and there was the added bonus of having Edward's parents in town, and the Cullen, Inc. Christmas party we'd attended last week. The party was more fun than I thought it would be. I saw Jake, who seemed to have cleaned up nicely. He even attended the party with a real live female person and not a fictional character. A step in the right direction, all things considered. I did get the stink eye from the Art Department girls all night, but where that would have made me cringe in the past, it now made me smile. Edward was mine to take home at the end of the night, no matter how many dirty looks I got.

Even though we weren't officially inhabiting the same space.

I knew that bothered Edward–he'd asked me to move in more times than I could count but I always avoided giving him an answer. I didn't even know what my problem was. I was at Edward's almost all the time and only went to my apartment to pick up my mail and extra clothes. If I looked deeply enough I suppose I'd find that I thought giving up my apartment meant giving up my independence. But I wasn't sure that really meant anything anymore. If anything, my relationship with Edward enhanced my independence–never before had I been so free to be _me_.

But somehow I still couldn't push myself to take that step. I didn't know exactly what my problem was but as the days passed I realized there wasn't another shoe and it wasn't going to drop. Our relationship wasn't perfect by any means, but it was as good as I'd ever had and more than I ever hoped for. It was about time I got over myself.

I took out my phone, planning on calling Rose to try to hash some of this out, but it rang with Edward's ringtone before I could.

"Hey," I said. I was happy to hear from him. He'd left for work before I was even awake that morning.

"Are you busy?" he asked.

"I'm still with Riley."

"How's that going?"

"I think I'm carrying a few extra pounds."

"You don't have to carry all those shopping bags, you know. Have them sent to the apartment."

"Oh no, I'm not talking about the bags. I'm talking about _me._"

"I like talking about you. It's my favorite subject," he said. "And you must be mistaken, because you look the same to me."

"How would you know?" I teased. "You haven't seen me naked in at least a week. Just saying."

"Ah." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I've been very busy lately. I'm sorry. But I need to put in extra time now so I can take off for the holidays. You know that."

"I know. I'm looking forward to the day you make it up to me. I deserve a reward for my patience, don't you think?" Riley walked back in the room and hung up a few items for me to try on. He fiddled around and pretended not to listen as I continued my conversation with Edward.

"I most certainly do," Edward said. I could hear the smile in his voice and it made me feel less like of a nag. "As a matter of fact, I was calling to see if we could spend some time together today."

"Really? Is that my reward? I was holding out for diamonds, but I'll take time instead," I joked.

"Oh, you never know what I'm going to come up with. How much longer will you be? I'll pick you up."

I was momentarily thrown by the quick change in subject but managed to recover and look over at Riley and the stack of clothes he had picked out for me. "An hour?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you in a bit."

"'Kay. Love you."

"Love you too."

Edward was there an hour later, his cheeks red from the cold, looking as handsome as ever.

"I haven't seen you in forever," Riley said, kissing Edward on both cheeks. "Are you cheating on me?"

"I don't have time to be unfaithful. It takes too much work," he said to Riley before turning and kissing me in greeting.

"Why the pout?" he asked, resting his hands on my hips. "Aren't you happy to see me? Or did you and Riley have plans I wasn't supposed to know about?"

"She's not my type," Riley said, bagging my purchases. "You, on the other hand... that we can talk about."

"Sorry," Edward said with a quick look over his shoulder. "If I don't have time to cheat on my shopper I definitely don't have time to cheat on my girlfriend."

"And also because you love me," I said.

"Right. That too," he said with a smirk.

Edward took the bag in one hand and my hand in the other, we said goodbye to Riley, and he ushered me out to the waiting car.

"To what do I owe this rare treat?" I asked once we were seated and heading uptown.

Edward shrugged and smiled. "I've been working a lot lately. I thought it might be nice for us to spend some time alone before the real mad madness of the holidays starts."

"Where are we going?"

He pulled me into his lap and kissed me. "It's a surprise."

He held me firmly and then kissed me again. "Now where are all these extra pounds you told me about earlier?"

"Turns out it was all in my head. In that I seemed to have made it up, not that I had extra pounds in my head like Mayor McCheese."

He looked at me skeptically and shook his head. "So what's this really all about? Is it the lack of... _private time _over the last week? I think it's because my mother almost walked in on us. I have PTSD."

I bit my lip and rested my head on his shoulder as I played with the buttons on his shirt.

"Bella?" he prompted.

"Are you getting tired of me? You can tell me." I picked my head up and looked at him. "We can try some... new stuff. I heard about this one thing. I'd have to start going to the gym to be able to do it, but I think I–"

I was cut off my Edward's lips on mine. He kissed me deeply, his hands resting in my hair. When he pulled away he had a completely serious expression on his face. "I love you more every day. I'm not tired of you and you're the sexiest woman I've ever met."

I looked down and let out a long breath. Edward lifted my chin and smiled at me. "Tell me what's really on your mind."

"I don't like your bedroom," I blurted out. "I think the bed should be closer to the windows and I don't like the red you have in the curtains."

"Okayyyyy," he said slowly, an understandably confused look on his face. "Shall I hire someone to come and change it?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I want to do it. After I move in."

I snuck a look at Edward and watched his face transform as his brain caught up with my logic.

"Really?" he asked, a slow sweet smile spreading across his lips.

"Really. I'm sorry it's taken me this long. I'm pretty much an idiot."

"No you're not," he said, running the back of his hand across my cheek. "Besides, isn't that my line?"

"Yes. Idiot. Maybe you're rubbing off on me. Now take me home."

"Uh, I thought we'd go to a museum. We haven't done that in a while."

"Oh, okay."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic."

"I'm sorry. It sounds like a great idea. I just thought we'd go home and celebrate." I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him to me, kissing him firmly on the mouth.

"Ah, right. Well. I have other plans for you today." He kissed me quickly on the lips then sat back, a small smile on his face.

I was kind of disappointed. It was cold out, snow was in the forecast, and if Edward was taking a day off I wanted to spend it cuddled up in bed with him. Naked. It was likely I would see paintings of naked people at a museum, but it just wasn't the same.

"Do I detect a pout?" he asked as the car came to a stop a few minutes later.

"Here?" I asked, my pout becoming even more pronounced.

"Yes, here. Come on." He grabbed my hand as the driver opened the door and we got out. The front door to The Frick Collection was opened as we approached and we were ushered inside.

"A pleasure to see you, Mr. Masen," a woman greeted us.

"Thank you, Nancy," he said. As if it was every day someone was personally greeted by staff when they entered a museum. "This is my girlfriend Bella."

She smiled nicely at me and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Bella."

"You too," I said, shaking her hand. She took our coats and Edward took my hand to lead me into the museum.

We walked around for a bit and the uneasy feeling I had when we arrived quickly abated. This really was quite a spectacular collection.

Distracted as I was by my surroundings, it took me a while to realize how quiet the museum was.

"I feel like we're the only ones here. That's odd for a Sunday afternoon, wouldn't you say?" I asked, looking around in vain for another person.

"You think so?" Edward asked, a rather bemused look on his face. He pulled my hand and it took me a second to realize we were in the room where that disastrous benefit had been last year. Edward was invited again this year, of course, but he sent a check instead. We weren't quite up to attending.

"Why are we here?" I asked.

"I received an inside tip about an exciting development," he said cryptically, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"An exciting development? Are they renovating the gift shop? Installing vending machines in the courtyard?"

"Even better than that. In fact, I have it on good authority that it might be life-changing. But only for you and me."

I was thoroughly confused. "Only for us? That's very specific. Did you accidentally add a couple zeros to your donation check?"

"Ah, I'm confusing you." He shook his head. "Okay, maybe the museum is just a backdrop. The development doesn't involve them at all. It really is just about you and me."

Then he dropped to his knee.

Dropped to his KNEE.

My heart started to pound and my palms were sweaty. I swallowed loudly and my stomach was so queasy I was afraid I might throw up on his beautiful hair.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You all right?" he asked, looking up at me with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"That depends. Did you drop a contact lens?"

"My eyesight is perfect."

"A cufflink?"

"I'm wearing a sweater."

"Button?"

"Bella."

"Sorry."

I looked down at his handsome, earnest face and bit my lip. I didn't know if I was ready for this, but then again, I was more sure of Edward than I'd ever been of anything. What came with marriage would be easily handled with Edward by my side.

I took a deep breath and smiled.

"May I continue now?" he asked.

"You may," I replied. He looked up at me and smiled and I suddenly felt completely calm. This was right.

Edward reached into his pocket and took out a small box. "I've rehearsed this part a million times, but it's entirely different in the moment. It's actually so much easier. All I can think about is how much I need you, and how I plan to love you for the rest of my life. Executing this plan – a plan I believe in wholeheartedly – requires us to be together always. So, what I'm trying to say is: I want you to be my wife. I want this more than anything. Bella, will you marry me?"

I wanted to answer, but I seemed to be at a loss for words. Even one as simple as "yes." Because up until he actually asked, he _could _have been looking for a lost button or giving me a pin instead of a ring. I was overwhelmed by his words and the unexpected turn of events. Edward was proposing. Marriage. To me. My brain had to catch up with my mouth. It was something I wasn't used to; I usually had the opposite problem.

Looking at Edward and seeing his unsure expression sprung me into action. Even if I couldn't speak quite yet, he shouldn't doubt for a second that I wanted this as much as he did.

I reached out my left hand, which he took with a relieved smile, and he placed the ring on my finger. I tugged on his hand so he would stand and then threaded my hands through his hair and kissed him.

"Is that a yes, Ms. Swan?" he asked against my lips.

"That's a definite yes, Mr. Masen."

I realized, as Edward and I stood there smiling and kissing, that he'd effectively turned the place where our relationship almost ended to the place where it was only beginning. It was the best of omens, a sign that we had changed our lives for the better.

"I hope you've been practicing signing my name," he teased.

"I have notebooks full of my future signature. In fact, I scribble it on all my cookbooks, and even on other people's. Now take me home so we can pre-consummate our marriage."

He laughed and took my hand.

Best frickin' day ever.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

Until next time...


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